


Without You Is How I Disappear

by shes_my_becks



Series: Truth Is Now Acceptable [2]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-08-10 16:37:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7852882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shes_my_becks/pseuds/shes_my_becks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank is living alone in the hidden slums of Battery City, scavenging and fighting to survive day to day. Just barely scraping by he puts all the energy he has into fighting BLI, the corrupt company ruling the city, with the little things; he is an explosion of colour in a vast expanse of white. </p><p>
  <strong>Ray is happy in the desert he calls home with the crew he calls family. When the rest of his crew is ghosted, Ray must find his own way in the dangerous and ever shifting sands, newly alone and nursing a deep seated hatred for the man who ordered his family dead; Korse. </strong>
</p><p>Gerard is a model citizen of Battery City. Working in medicinal testing facilities Gerard takes his pills and strives for A Better Tomorrow, his record marred only by the hazy affection he feels for his younger brother. He is content with his lot and lives only to serve the gracious and generous BLI.</p><p>Mikey is a rebel on the inside. Having weaned himself secretly off of the pills mandated by the City, he discovers a hidden world of colour and noise under his very nose, and becomes wrapped up in the secret revolution of the inner city rebels. </p><p>These lives will collide.</p><p>These lives will scream into the silence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ray is here! A little late as I have found him really difficult to write compared to Frank - hope you like his (admittedly very short) intro. Let me know what you think in the comments :)

Jet Star keeps one hand on the steering wheel of the car as he drives and squints into the midday sun, trying to keep to the tracks in the sand that pass as roads in the desert as best he can. It’s stifling in the car and he can feel the beads of sweat dripping down his forehead - he loves the sands fiercely but he could do without the goddamn heat sometimes. Even rolling down the windows doesn’t help; the air itself is warm, and he’s not convinced that it doesn’t make him even hotter. Still, he’d grown up in the wasteland zones around Battery City and he’s used to the heat, even if he doesn’t like it much. 

He takes his eyes off the road and glances quickly sideways at the object on the passenger seat - a frankenstein ray gun with a shiny new BLI - white paint job, built from the parts of ruined ones. It’s not as nice as his own (to be fair though, his is the coolest one around with its blue paint job and ‘because I said so’ emblazoned down the side), but it’s a pretty sturdy gun, good as a first for a newbie and pretty reliable without too much kickback. 

He’d brought it earlier at a stall on travelling market from a Zone Rat who he knew to be a shiny tecchie for Wicked Trick, the youngest of his little crew of four. The kid’s fourteen and it’s about time he helps out when there’s a firefight - there’s been a couple of occasions recently that have been too close for comfort, and they need help ghosting the Dracs that pop up everywhere. Besides, it’s about time the kid learnt to look after himself; most motorbabies out here can shoot before they can walk, and Trick’s been babied for far too long. 

Admittedly, at least part of the blame for that falls on his own shoulders. He’s a bit of a sucker for the kid with his stupid gangly limbs and smile that’s too big for his face. 

As he drives Jet considers what to say to Swift Kiss and Acid Mechanic when he gets back to camp - Mechanic will probably be excited to impart his (nonexistent) wisdom on shooting to Trick, but Kiss is a different story. He thinks back to the day the three of them, not much older than he is now, had found Trick, just a sniffling little motorbaby dying of dehydration in an abandoned grocery store, not more than four of five years old. 

He tries hard not to remember the semi - rotting bodies they’d found in the room next door. 

It had been Swift Kiss who’d found him, silent and wide-eyed, and she who had bundled him up and carried him out to the car. Ever since she’d sort of adopted him, and is viciously protective of him even now, at fourteen years old. As the unspoken leader of the crew she’d always cut off any discussion over Trick having a weapon or doing anything dangerous, arguing that he’s too young and would be more harm than help - the most the kids ever done is supply runs, and he’s always stayed in the car when there’s a firefight. Jet’s likely to get stuck with setting up the tents and digging lav pits for the next six cycles in revenge, but it’s worth it - it really is time for the kid to learn to shoot. 

Too late to go back on it now anyway - he tries to ignore the tightening in his stomach as he approaches the three tents clustered around a firepit that is their camp for the next few days - like a lot of Zone Runners, The Rodney Crew move around a lot, mostly sticking to Zones Two and Three. Right now they’re smack bang in the middle of Zone 3, miles away from any beaten track and surrounded by dunes, and not a lot else.

Jet totally isn’t scared of Swift Kiss, he’s just..apprehensive is all. (Although that crash queen could totally kick his ass - she’s a badass even on her worst day.) 

Still, after he pulls the car up in between his and Mechanic’s tents, he takes a deep breath before grabbing the gun and stepping out. The other three members of his crew are dotted around - Acid Mechanic and Swift Kiss are sitting right by the firepit with their heads bent over the radio - it’s been playing up recently and needs some new parts, which he picked up at the market. 

He digs the fiddly little pieces out of the pocket on his leather jacket, and heads over to drop them in the hand that Mechanic had extended as soon as the car door slammed. 

“Thanks man,” he mutters without actually looking up, and Kiss just nods her head in his direction, eyes glued on the inner working of the radio as she carefully extracts a spring of some kind.

Jet leaves them to it and goes over to the entrance of the tent he shares with Wicked Trick, where the kid is laid back in the sand with a copy of a ‘Shiny’ mag strewn next to him, eyes shut and skin covered against the burning sun.

“Hey Tricky-doodle, what’s going on?” He leaves the gun in its package and sets in next to him as he flops down in the sand, and ruffles the kids hair, chuckling when Trick squawks at the indignity and kicks sand around trying to scramble away - he’s going through a phase of being obsessed with his hair. Personally Jet thinks it’s pretty stupid, because it’s not as if he can even get it clean more than once a cycle out here anyway. 

“Jet Star, you’re a goddamn punk, do you know that?” Trick scowls at him and turns his nose up, picking up the magazine and turning his face away. 

Jet makes a wounded face and clutches at his heart, fake groaning in distress and crying “Oh but Trick, my greatest friend, I thought I was your favourite Zone Runner in the whole desert!” 

When Wicked Trick just makes a face and says nothing he gives it up and waves the gun in its package under his nose as a peace offering, whining in his most annoying voice, “But Trickyyy, I got you a present!” 

The reply comes muffled from behind the pages of the mag in a grumpy voice, “Jet I swear to the sun, if you’re going to put another sand snake in my hand I will ghost you myself. Think on it dude.” 

He can’t help the snort that escapes him at that - it had been a slow day sometime a couple of years ago, and the look of abject terror on Wicked Trick’s face when he realised what was happening had made him laugh so hard there were tears pouring out of his eyes. 

“Nah man, don’t you worry your thinking box. Here,” Jet pushes the package towards Trick, and tries to hide his smirk at the suspicious look on his face when he very hesitantly reaches for it and peels the plain brown paper back. The suspicion is quickly replaced however, but disbelief, and then he lights up with excitement, looking between the shiny new gun and Jet’s face what seems like a few times a second. 

“Dude, no way! Are you serious?!” Jet can’t help but feel a little proud at being the one to make the kid glow like that, and grins widely at him. 

“Yeah, that’s for you motorbaby. Thought it was about time for you to start helping us out instead of sitting on your ass in the car every time there’s a firefight.” Trick is so thrilled with the gun that he even lets it slide when he’s called a motorbaby (which is a pretty big thing - the kid’s wiry but strong, and Jet’s pretty sure he’s still got a few bruises to show for the last time he called him that)

“Damn Jet, that’s fucking milkshakes! Can I paint it?” 

“Yeah, of course little dude. I think Mechanic used up the last of the paint on his helmet though, you want to wait till tomorrow? I bet I could pick up some pretty shiny paint for you from one of the tumbleweeds in Zone One.” 

“Sure thing. Will you help me practice?” 

Just as Jet opens his mouth to reply a shadow blocks out some of the sun, and he squints up at Swift Kiss who is towering above him sat on the ground, eyes glued on the gun in Trick’s hands with arms crossed and hip cocked. 

He can’t help but gulp a little when he spots the raised eyebrow - he really is in for it. 

“Jet Star,” Kiss speaks slowly with soft menace in her voice. “Can I talk to you for a minute please? Inside,” she jerks her head at his tent. He nods and gets up to follow her while she smiles tightly down at Wicked Trick and says, “Why don’t you go show that to Mechanic, Trick. I doubt a knockoff blaster like that is safe to use.” 

Trick is so excited by his newest acquisition that he doesn’t even glance up at Kiss’s tone, and immediately scrambles over to Mechanic to gloat over the thing, abandoning Jet to her fury - the little punk. 

Kiss herself stalks to the entrance of his tent without so much as a backward glance, and Jet gets the distinct feeling of being a motorbaby in trouble as he trails reluctantly after her. When she disappears inside the tent he takes a moment to brace himself before he steps inside too. 

He ducks under the open tent flap and blinks at the comparative gloom of the tent after the blinding sun of outside - Swift Kiss is sat right in the middle, on top of his sleeping bag, arms crossed again and glaring at him like he just strapped on a Drac mask and offered her a pill.  
“What’s up Kiss?” Jet winces when his attempt at nonchalance comes off more squeaky than relaxed. 

Kiss looks like she’s barely containing her anger and when she replies, it comes out as a hiss - “What’s up? Don’t give me what’s up, punk. You got him a fucking gun?!” 

“Yeah, it was time for him to have one Kiss. You know he should have had one years ago, and he’s so excited! He needs to be able to defend himself. It just makes sen-” his reply gets cut off with a growl of rage. 

“He shouldn’t have one, ever! He doesn’t need defence, we are his defence. We look after him, he’s been fine up to now hasn’t he?!” Kiss’s nostrils are flaring, which would usually make Jet give into whatever she’s saying, but not this time - he feels a rush of righteousness and stands his ground. 

“Kiss, you know that’s not true,” he replies in his firmest voice. “There’s no guarantee that we’ll always be around, and besides, Trick is fourteen. If he was with any other crew he would have been shooting for years, if he wasn’t shipped off to Australia. If he can’t look after himself out here he’ll get dusted before he hits twenty - I know that you know that.” 

Despite himself he’s shocked when Kiss’s hard face crumples, and tears glisten in her eyes; thinking back he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her cry. Even now she’s clearly fighting it, and gulps before replying in a distinctly shakier voice than before. 

“He’s just so young, Jet. You know what he’s like - what if he runs off thinking he’s all that and gets himself hurt? It’d be our fault..” she trails off. 

“He’ll get hurt worse if he doesn’t have it. Me and Mechanic, we’ll train him up real good, he won’t even see a firefight for a few cycles probably. It’ll be okay, we’ll be looking after him just like always,” Jet Star puts an arm round Kiss and pats her hand when she leans into him. 

“It’s for the best, Kiss. Everything’ll be milkshakes.” 

She nods against his chest, before sniffing hard and sitting back up, scrubbing roughly at her eyes.

“Well then, I’d better get out and teach him how to shoot straight before he blows someone’s head off - a can of beans says Mechanic’s already trying to teach him one of his stupid trick shots.” 

With that Swift Kiss gets lightly to her feet and disappears back into the blinding sunlight without another word. Jet sits back and grins at the tent flap for a second and feels a wave of affection - badass as she is Kiss is a pussycat at heart, and he knows without a doubt she’d fight to the death for any one of her crew. Pride gets in there too, for Trick - getting your first raygun is an event out here, no matter what age. He’s even come to find that he can’t imagine life without Mechanic and his dumb ass practical jokes and awful jokes that he cracks whenever someone is in a stinker. 

Before he gets back to his feet, he hears Wicked Trick shout with laughter, and Kiss pokes her dark head back inside, along with an outstretched hand. 

“You coming Jet?” 

He gets up and takes her hand. 

“Of course.”

~*~*~

That night as the hot sun begins to sink below the horizon they all lounge around the fire, eating cans of power pup and beans and listening to WKIL on the radio, laughing over the impromptu shooting lesson of the afternoon. 

“Dude, you seriously nearly ghosted me! Little punk,” Acid Mechanic sniffs and looks wounded. 

Swift Kiss laughs and shoves at him, arms bare in the pleasant warmth of the fire and the dying sun. “It didn’t even touch you, stop being such a little motorbaby!” 

Mechanic points his fork at her and waves it about, exclaiming loudly, “You’d be sorry if I got ghosted! You sorry lot wouldn’t last a day without me here, you see if I’m wrong.” 

Wicked Trick pipes in at this, poking Mechanic’s stomach and saying, “Well, at least we’d have more to eat! You’re like human quicksand man,” and setting off another chorus of laughs.

Jet laughs so hard he almost chokes on his beans, and tears start streaming when Mechanic jumps up with a dramatic flourish and rushes over to slap him on the back so hard he goes sprawling into the sand - Trick and Kiss howl with laughter off to the side while he catches his breath. 

He shushes them though, when he hears the fast rocky song coming out of the radio replaced by a deep gravelly voice - Dr D’s radio show isn’t just entertainment, it’s the main way to get your info on what’s going on in the zones. 

_“Zone Punks and Crash Queens, this is Dr Death Defying coming at you on the waves from WKIL radio, the home of rock and roll out here in the dunes. Listen up and listen hard my little Motorbabies because here is the weather. It’ll be sun sun sun so watch those pretty little thinking boxes, and cover up your trades because there’s some acid run headed to Zone Five. Zones Two and Three, watch the skies because word on the sands is there’ll be crows a’circlin and vamps a’huntin - keep your gun close and your crew closer, and peel those eyes like a goddamn potato. Stay safe out there desert babies - that was Dr D with the weather. Now strap yourself in because here’s Mad Gear and the Missile Kid, with their latest ear blaster, Black Dragon Fighting Society.”_

The track starts playing and Kiss gets up to dance, pulling Mechanic up with her to leap and hoot with the firelight casting strange, beautiful shadows on their smiling faces. Trick wanders over to plop himself down beside Jet and gives him a knowing grin, jerking his head towards the two of them and waggling his eyebrows. 

“What do you reckon? Pretty close these days, aren’t they?” 

The kid isn’t wrong; Kiss and Mechanic have been acting strangely for months, sideways glances and brief touches when they think no one is looking, and the number of ‘surveillance runs’ that they’ve gone on have doubled. 

Jet is happy for them - he’s long thought that if they’d only pull their heads out of their own asses they’d be perfect for each other, and god knows you have to grab any shot you can get at happiness out here. It gives him a painful little pang of remembrance for a girl he lost what he feels like a lifetime ago, but in reality is probably just a few years - he was an idiot, and he regrets it now, but life goes on. 

“They sure are kid. Think they’re pretty slick, right? But me and you buddy, we know what’s up,” he pulls Trick under his arm and scrubs at his hair, laughing when he yelps and struggles away like always. His laughter whooshes out of him, however, when he is tackled in the stomach and thrown backwards into the sand; he looks up at Trick who is standing over him and looking smug, and he can hear Kiss and Mechanic cackling somewhere on the other side of the fire. 

He narrows his eyes at Trick and clambers to his feet, crouching down into a fighting stance and advancing on him. 

“Oh so you want to play that way do you?” Jet revels in the vaguely nervous look the kid gets on his face. “Let's go, motorbaby.” 

He launches himself at the kid and wrestles him to the ground in seconds, easily pinning a skinny arm behind his back and smushing his face into the sand. Trick shrieks and taps out, so Jet gives him one last hair scrub and lets him out, trying not to laugh too hard when he spits sand out with a look on his face that says he’s attempting dignity. 

At this point Mechanic and Kiss are howling and choking with laughter, and Mechanic falls down into the sand himself with the force of it, only making the tears pour harder down Kiss’s face. Jet can’t fight it anymore and lets the guffaws out, bending over and holding his sides as they shake - a glance over at Trick shows that despite himself even he too has a smile on his face, and it isn’t long before he hears the kids piping laugh join in the chorus, breaking into a deep baritone at some points. 

Surrounded by his laughing crew backdropped by a sky on fire with colour from the setting sun and pounding music coming from the radio, a full belly and a place to sleep, Jet Star thinks that life doesn’t get much better than this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this one took so long, I was at Reading Festival! Fall Out Boy were definitely the highlight, they killed it :D but here is the next instalment of Ray's story - all I can say is I'm sorry. Enjoy, and let me know what you think in the comments!

Jet Star sits back in the sand and watches Wicked Trick shooting off into the distance, yelling and cussing at imaginary BLI agents. The kid isn’t bad, he has to admit, but he’s still got that awkward gangly frame and he’s going for the easy shots - the ones that will be expected. Still, he has all the time in the world to learn to be devious with his shooting, and it’s not as if there’s a shortage of targets out here; there seems to be a never ending supply of Draculoids just waiting to be shot, the stupid things. 

In the back of his mind though, Jet is a little worried about Dr Death Defying’s broadcast last night - out in the open dunes of Zone Three he and his crew are exposed if they do come across Dracs, or worse, Scarecrows. If it comes to a firefight he wouldn’t be too sure of the outcome if it was more than one unit of Dracs, and Wicked Trick is an easy target right now. He’d voiced his concerns to Swift Kiss last night before they crashed, but she’d just shaken him off with a laugh. 

“Oh Jet, you worry too much,” she’d laid a hand on his arm outside her tent when he talked to her. “A few Dracs is nothing we can’t handle, and we’ve taken down our fair share of Crows. Besides, we can’t get gone just yet, there’s that big meet in a couple days, remember? We need parts for the car.” 

Jet had tried to argue that if Dr D was warning the zone rats it must be a pretty big issue, but Kiss had been having none of it, and he went to bed with an uneasy feeling twisting in his gut.  
She was probably right and he does have a bit of a rep for being over cautious, but he’s always thought that he was better off a little paranoid than dead. 

Still, with the sun beating down and nothing for miles around but sand, the fears that had crept through his mind in the dark don’t seem as threatening now - and the car really does need some new parts, they need to get to the meet. He’d promised to get some paint for Trick’s new raygun, but he needs to go get some fuel first - the closest Dead Pegasus is maybe a half hour drive away, but he can fill up some tanks while he’s there to make the most of it. 

Jet lies there for another few minutes, chuckling at Trick’s antics, before he plucks up the energy to heave himself up; it’s one the crew’s few lazy days with very little to do, and Kiss and Mechanic are also laid out on the sand outside a tent, lazily sunning themselves and talking quietly. It’s a pretty peaceful scene considering they’re living in ‘uninhabitable wasteland’ as BLI so delicately put it, and holds a lot of comfort for him, having lived out here ever since he was a kid.  
It’s home. 

He feels that familiar happy tightening in his chest at his simple, easy life with the shiniest crew out there and jingles his keys as he raises his voice to reach them all, scattered about. 

“Yo punks, I’m gonna go get some gas for the car. Anyone want to come with?” Each of his crew in turn shakes their head and Mechanic blows a kiss from his spot on the ground.  
He snorts and pretends to catch it, holding it close to his chest and yells, “I’ll miss you baby”, laughing when Mechanic solemnly replies, “Hurry back to me pumpkin!” 

Kiss waves at him when he walks past to get to the bright yellow car, and Trick takes a minute out from target practice to sip at a bottle of water, saying “See you later Jet. paint when you get back right?” 

He slaps the kids hand on his way past and throws a reply over his shoulder, “Sure thing little dude. Try not to kill the others with that thing while I’m gone, huh?” 

He doesn’t manage to duck quite in time to avoid the handful of sand that Wicked Trick hurls at him. 

~*~*~

Jet Star whistles quietly to himself as he lets fills up the car at Dead Pegasus, and hauls around the heavy tanks that they keep in the boot so they don’t have to stop for gas as often. It’s a hot day, even for the desert, and he’s run the risk of getting burns on his arms for the sweet release of taking off his leather jacket, which is hanging over the back of the passenger seat in the car. 

Having been in the desert for as long as he can remember, however, the sun doesn’t bother him all that much and he lets his eyes drift shut with one hand on the gas pump, tilting his head back to soak up the rays. 

The noise of another vehicle approaching fast catches his attention and he opens his eyes to squint at a dust trail coming from the east. As it gets closer he sees that the van is totally white - BLI.

Jet hurriedly shoves the pump back in its holder and settles a hand on the raygun in its holster at his side. Throwing a mournful look at the car, he dives inside the main building and stands just inside the door, fixing his eyes firmly on the van - not more than a few hundred metres away now - muscles tensed for a fight. He doesn’t like leaving the car, but he’d only draw attention if he drove away right now - the best bet is to stay put and hope the pigs aren’t low on gas. 

“ Uh, dude. What are you doing?” 

The station zombie behind the counter (so named for their almost constant vacant looks of boredom) is staring at him as if he’s gone insane, but he just flips him the bird without taking his eyes off the van. The station zombies are a weird mix of BLI and rebel - the pigs leave them alone provided they’re paid a hefty cut of the takings of the Dead Pegs, and turn a blind eye to the fact the employees wear colours and play music throughout the stations, associating with the rebels of the zones.

Jet feels that unnerving calm come over him that always descends before a fight, and allows his brain to switch off, thinking only in ammo and defensive strategies and tactics. 

He relaxes though, when the van just barrels right on past the gas station without even slowing, leaving nothing but a dust trail behind. Pigs are common enough out in the sands but he can do without being noticed thank you very much - those motherfuckers will shoot a zone rat on sight, whether they’re on a mission or not. 

Still, these ones clearly have better things to do than harass him, he thinks, watching the van shoot off into the distance. He shrugs it off and turns to pay the station zombie, who is still looking remarkably bored considering his building was just subject to a BLI fly by. 

After he’s picked up a few bottles of water and some cans of Power Pup along with the newest edition of ‘Shiny’ to take back to his crew and paid the guy, Jet heads back out to the car and throws the food into the back, sipping on one of the bottles while he leafs through the magazine. 

There’s nothing all that exciting in there, just the usual rubbish - but Trick likes them for some reason so Jet always makes a point of picking one up for him whenever they have the tradeables to spare. Tossing it to the side he starts the car and reverses it out of the station, heading back towards the camp. 

He leaves windows rolled down and taps out a tune on the steering wheel as he drives, not passing anyone on the way. He drives undisturbed for a while, relishing the peace that he only really gets sat behind the wheel - none of the others ever learnt how to drive the car that they found right after the takeover in the city, so it’s kind of become his own little thing. Jet is the one who keeps it running and drives it around, and in his own head he considers it a kind of fifth crew member - not that he’d ever say that out loud. Mechanic would rip him apart. 

After a few minutes though, he notices the tyre tracks on the ground that have been running under him the whole way so far - the sand swallows any tracks up pretty quick so they must be really fresh. 

With a jolt, Jet Star realises that they must be the tracks from the BLI van that passed at the Dead Pegasus - and he’s following right on after it. 

An uneasy grip twists his stomach when he gets over halfway back to the campsite without the tracks changing course - the van was headed straight towards it, straight towards his crew lounging in the sand.  
Jet tries to ignore the panic that begins to squeeze his heart, but his foot seems to press down on the accelerator of its own accord anyway. As he gets nearer and nearer he reasons with himself. 

The van was going so fast, even if it did pass a tiny campsite it wouldn’t have stopped just to take out three desert rats. 

It won’t even have seen them anyway - Route Guano is in this general direction and the pigs were probably headed there, which wouldn’t have taken them past his crew. 

Even if for some reason the van did stumble across them and they did stop to fight, the Rodney Crew is no small match for a bunch of Dracs in a van. Kiss and Mechanic are pretty slick with their guns, and even Trick has one to help now - there’s nothing to worry about. 

It’ll all be milkshakes. 

Jet struggles to breathe properly as he gets closer and closer back to his waiting crew, until he peaks over a sand dune and - there are the tents, in the distance. 

He breathes out a shaky sigh of relief when he sees that all the tents are still standing, and he can see the tiny little figures of what he guesses to be Kiss and Mechanic, still lying out in the sun close together, exactly where they were when he left. 

The relief that washes over him is so great that he takes his eyes off the ground and fixates solely on the campsite that draws ever closer - he eases his foot off the accelerator a little, comforted by the sight of his crew, and the sense of urgency disappears with the speed. 

That is until he notices that he’s still following the tracks that the white van left behind. 

Jet’s stomach drops out and he slams on the brakes, still a fair distance from the tents. He can see the tracks clear as day, heading right towards them without a break - BLI were here, and they saw his crew. 

They’re not dead though - of course not. He eases the car forward again and settles into a slow crawl, arguing with himself all the way. They’re good fighters, and they’re armed, and - they can’t be dead. It’s just an impossibility, there’s no way he can be all alone. There’s no way they could be gone, just like that. 

He approaches his tent at a snail's pace, this time with eyes firmly locked on the ground in front of him, not letting them stray to his friends on the other side of the fire pit. 

Jet parks the car and sits unmoving at the wheel for a minute, waiting for Trick to come running, demanding ‘Shiny’ as he always does. 

Wicked Trick doesn’t come. 

He’s probably just caught up with his new gun though, Jet thinks as he grabs the magazine and climbs out of the car. It’s only to be expected really - the kid’s so excited by it, he’ll just be caught up with shooting and didn’t hear the car pull up. 

He makes his way round the side of the tents towards where he knows Mechanic and Kiss are lying, soaking up the sun, without looking up from his boots and they displace the sand. 

“Hey guys,” Jet is talking just a little too loud, just a little too cheerful, even to his own ears. “Ready to go get some paint? The car’s all filled up, and I got us some eats too. Just dog food but that’s all they had. If we go now we can probably pick up some glitter!” 

He’s rambling, he knows he is - but the silence that meets his ears when he stops talking makes him wish he’d never stopped talking. 

Jet takes a deep breath and pauses before he flicks his eyes up to look at the two people he’s been running with for most of his life.

His heart stops beating in his chest when he sees the two single, neat burn marks scorched into their chests, and their open eyes staring blindly straight into the burning sun.

He stumbles back, choking on the air that suddenly is too thick to breathe, and feels his eyes burn as silent tears pour from them, not too soon that he doesn’t see that their hands are outstretched across the sand, fingertips just touching. 

Jet turns away from the eerily still bodies of Swift Kiss and Acid Mechanic, and promptly throws up in the sand. He hurls what seems like his entire insides up into the sand, coughing and spitting - but the pain doesn’t even compare to the grief ripping his heart from his chest. 

He staggers away and towards the tent he shares with Trick, falling inside as a howl of pain rips from his chest, the image outside burned into the inside of his eyelids to torture him every time he blinks. He collapses inside onto his knees and pushes his forehead into the ground and twists both hands in his hair, yanking as hard as he can just to feel something that isn’t the searing pain scorching his insides with every breath.

Something shifts at his side. 

Jet feels hope soar in his chest and makes himself dizzy with how quickly he raises his head - but it turns to lead when he sees Wicked Trick on top of his sleeping bag, white as a sheet and folded around a blackened, charred, gaping wound in his skinny little adolescent stomach. 

It’s beyond anything Jet can do for him. 

“J - Jet Star?” Trick coughs and blood trickles from his mouth. One of his hands moves away from the charred flesh and twitches towards Jet’s - he nods mutely and grips Trick’s hand in both of his own - it’s as cold as ice, and covered in the boy’s blood.  
“Trick - Trick, what happened?” Jet chokes on his words and scrubs the tears from his face. “You’re going to be okay, you’re going to get better, I’m going to look after you, just don’t move okay? You’ll be milkshakes Trick, I swear,” Even as the words come out of his mouth he knows they’re a lie - and Wicked Trick knows it too. A tiny, sad smile lifts his lips and his head shakes just once, almost indistinguishably from left to right. 

“I’m dust Jet. You know I am - the pigs came through. They ghosted Kiss and Mechanic before they had the chance to stand up and fight, and I was in here looking for a battery, they got me when I stepped out. Some guy named Korse.” The effort of the hoarse whisper he manages is clearly taking a toll on him, and Trick’s face gets even more alarmingly white as the grip on Jet’s hand weakens. 

“Trick - I’m so sorry, man, I should have been here, I should never have left you - this is all my fault Tricky-doodle, I’m so sorry,” the tears are pouring freely now and Jet struggles to swallow around the lump in his throat, running a hand through Wicked Trick’s greasy blonde hair. 

The kid shakes his head again and pushes some more words out, grimacing in pain as he does so. 

“Not your fa - fault, Jet. Don’t cut yourself up, promise me.” Jet just lets out a bitter bark of a laugh and leans forward to press his forehead to Trick’s, letting his tears mingle with the sweat and blood there. 

“Jet - I love you, ya big punk. I never told you, but you’ve always been my hero, ever since you took me in. I never told you how much - how much I appreciate it. Thank you,” Trick’s words are getting weaker and his breaths shallower, but they wrench a sob from Jet Star’s chest all the same. 

“I love you too Trick, You - you were the best find we ever had, motorbaby. You keep me going, you know that? You’re colour man, pure colour, please don’t go Tricky. Don’t leave me,” the sobs are coming thick and fast now, wrenching their way out of Jet’s chest and ripping him apart in the process.

Trick pulls his head back to look Jet in the eye for a lingering moment, before they flutter shut and a quiet, peaceful smile brightens his face. 

“Look after yourself Jet Star. You’ll always be my brother.” 

With that Wicked Trick takes a deep, shuddering breath, and his already weak grip on Jet’s hand falls away completely as all his muscles go limp - and Jet Star is left completely alone in the world.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse for this chapter taking so long... but here you go!

Jet Star lays the roughly made wooden cross in the sand as gently as he would a grenade with the pin pulled, and kneels there, staring down as if he could see right through to where he buried his crew a year ago to the day. In his head the three of them are lying side by side just like if they were asleep, ready to get up and face the day - Jet doesn’t want to think about the rolling bones that are probably all that is left of his little family. 

He kneels in the cool sand and closes his eyes, picturing what this unassuming little patch of sand looked like last time he was here, before he’d gone to get that stupid fucking tank of gas. Kiss and Mechanic were sunning themselves on it, brushing together and laughing at Trick leaping around with his brand new raygun like a real crash queen, but laughing harder when he fell on his ass with a shocked look on his tanned face. 

The familiar pain breaks through Jet Star’s chest in waves, just like it always does - and he allows himself to drown, sobbing in time with the surges of grief, clinging desperately to the happy images in his mind and trying to fool himself into believing they’re still alive, just for a little while. 

He loses track of how long he stays on the ground, pressing himself into the sand, but the next time he is conscious of anything outside his own mind Jet can feel the sun burning his skin; midday heat as opposed to the fresh early morning chill from before. He sits back on his legs, trying to bring himself to care about the burns he can feel forming on the back of his neck and the bridge of his nose, but can’t quite get there. 

The year since Kiss, Mechanic and Trick got ghosted has been fucking awful. In all fairness though, he thinks as he hauls himself up and walks the short distance back to the car, he can’t actually remember much of it - he’s spent most of his days scavenging in dumps and most of his nights alone in his tent, drinking desert made alcohol probably strong enough to blind him until he passes out. It’s all gone in a blur of headaches and misery and often Jet isn’t quite sure why he doesn’t just put his gun to his head, other than a vague idea of living to remember the others. 

The ever-present stone in his stomach shifts uneasily while he dwells on his wretched existence, remembering Wicked Trick’s final request that he look after himself - he’s let the kid down yet again, as if allowing him to die wasn’t enough. 

Of course the main thing that gets him up the morning is one word, just a little word that is never far from the forefront of his mind - Korse. Even just thinking about it makes him see red. In the months after the others were ghosted, Jet’d stalked up and down the desert, Zone one to six and back, and even out past Zone Six into the nuclear wasteland that was left behind after the bombs, looking for any information on who Korse is and where he could find him. 

What little he’d found wasn’t encouraging, and that was when he could even get the Zone Rats to talk to him - far too often there’d be shifty eyes and hurried exits when the name was mentioned; but eventually he’d found that Korse is the commander of the desert unit of Scarecrow.

Which essentially, means he’s fucked.   
Korse is an elusive man it seems, and dangerous enough that there are a precious few Rats willing to risk saying his name aloud; leaving Jet no closer to finding him than he was a year ago. 

Lost in his own thoughts Jet Star finds himself suddenly back in the car with no memory of how he got there, which happens a lot these days. He can’t quite find it within himself to worry about that, though it does send another pang of guilt resonating occasionally - he shakes the thought of Trick’s requests out of his mind again and squints into the dunes from the driver’s seat, checking for anything out of the ordinary. 

At first glance he sees nothing but sand and sun backdropped by the scorching blue sky, nothing out of place. But, shifting the car into gear and glancing into the rearview mirror, his eyes focus suddenly on a plume of sand rising in the distance that he could swear wasn’t there a second ago. 

Leaving the car idling Jet ducks out and sticks close to it’s side, using his hand as shade from the sun as he tries to make out the disturbance in the desert, which seems to be coming right at him. He crouches and rests a hand on the gun at his side, locking away the panic that is trying to rise in his gut as his mind thrashes and screams that history is repeating itself, that Korse is coming back to finish the job he started a year ago when he killed the three best members of the Rodney Crew. 

He draws the gun and points it out from himself, and it makes him feel a little better. 

By now he can see the outline of a pretty big van with weird cables and what looks like an antenna with a satellite on top, driving haphazardly with lots of zig zags and sharp turns thrown in, which puzzles him - the rubberburners that drive like such idiots are usually out in Zone Five, what would they be doing out here? 

Another few seconds and Jet can make out the front of the van; it’s a dirty grey that looks like it might once have been white with yellow and black warning stripes across it, and the side is similarly decorated. That means the owner definitely isn’t a pig, but the driver isn’t necessarily friendly - the crazy driving especially makes him nervous, because who knows what got their hands on it? And for all he knows all that crap on top is some kind of torture instrument used on Zone Rats, in which case he’d rather not get involved, thank you very much. 

Still puzzling over the way the van is driving he shifts position and steps a little further out to get a better view, raygun trained on the drivers side just in case, and spots a pristine white car spitting up sand right behind the manic van, which is tearing away from it like a bat out of hell, and suddenly it all makes sense. The pigs are after whoever is in that thing, and it looks like they’re gaining - steady driving in a straight line. 

(Actually that’s pretty impressive out here, what with all the sand - he’s been driving for fifteen years and can only manage a wobbly impression of straight on his best day).

As it comes closer something in Jet’s mind clicks, and he falls into that mask that comes over him whenever there’s a firefight. The emotional part of him draws back to make way for the Zone Rat who’s ghosted more Dracs than he’s slept nights, and he shifts his gun ever so slightly from the windscreen of the van to the front tyre of the white car.  
By now he can see someone hanging out of the back of the van with a ray gun, moving with the zig zags to avoid the shots from the pigs and shooting haphazardly - it’s quickly obvious that whoever it is can’t aim for shit, and from the frequency of the shots it looks like they’re running out of bullets. The long and short of it is, that they’re fucked. 

It’s probably a bad idea to get involved, but Jet justifies it to himself with the fact that after they finish off the van it’s entirely possible that the BLI pigs will come back to go after him too, as a vulnerable target. It’s nothing at all to do with the disturbing deja vu over the way that the others died, the sudden flame in his chest is nothing more than self-preservation - it’s not that he particularly cares, really. Just looking out for number one. 

He takes a deep breath and shakes all the intrusive thoughts out of his head for the time being, relaxes the muscles in his arms, and shuts one eye against the glare of the sun as he tracks the front left tyre of the white car racing towards him by the second, and shoots. 

With an audible pop the tyre blows out, and the car suddenly swerves wildly, diverting from its one track course as the driver, which Jet can now see is a Drac from the ugly mask on the thing’s face, fights for control. 

Quick as a flash he goes for the back tyre on the same side, blowing the hair out of his eyes before he shoots that one out too - and the car does some crazy complicated spin before flipping and going flying into a dune with a nasty sounding crash. 

The van slams on the brakes right after the car goes flying, tyres spinning a little uselessly and kicking up the sand as it careers right towards Jet - and his car. 

He stands frozen for a second, watching it get closer and closer - slowing, but not slow enough. The brakes squeal and it skids right for him, stood in between the two vehicles like a desert dog in the headlights, before he starts and flings himself sideways, landing heavily in the sand and throwing his arms over his head, wincing when he hears the deafening crash right by him and the screech of twisting metal. 

At the same time small pieces of engine and bodywork go flying; Jet twists himself into a fetal position in an attempt to make the target smaller, but _fuck_ \- some stray piece of glass from a window slices through his arm. He feels it cut through the skin but can’t feel any pain over the adrenaline pumping through him. It’ll probably hurt like a bitch later though. 

He keeps his arms wrapped around his head and listens to the sounds of the cars settling after the impact for another second, until he’s sure that there won’t be any other goddamn missiles flying at his goddamn head. He’ll be picking bits of metal out of his hair for days, fuck. 

Deciding that that particular danger has passed, Jet rolls himself into a kneeling position facing his left side, snapping his arm out in front of him without even thinking with his gun aimed as natural as breathing. 

He takes a second to mourn the warped hunk of steel that used to be his beloved car, before stepping cautiously towards the van, which seems remarkably undamaged - what is the thing made of, seriously, like diamond plated titanium? 

The van is facing him side on with its bonnet buried in the passenger side of his poor ruined car, one back door still swinging open - Jet can hear rustling inside before someone groans, and he approaches steadily and cautiously with light steps across the sand, feeling it roll beneath his feet and swallow the sounds, the desert helping him along.

It doesn’t seem like the punks that wrecked his car would be pigs given their companions - Jet glances at the dune hiding the white BLI car, but that one seemed like it was pretty totalled. They might not be BLI , yeah, but there are some nasty Rats out here and there’s nothing to say these ones won’t take advantage and rob a lone Zone Runner out in the dunes, with no one around. He knows there are at least two of them - a driver and a shooter - and you don’t get far out here without being cynical. 

With that in mind he steps quietly towards the open door, keeping a safe enough distance from the van that any punk jumping out wouldn’t get the chance to grab him, but close enough that he can get an easy shot if necessary. 

He rounds the side of the thing ten feet away, raygun aimed and mind clear. 

The inside of the van is in absolute chaos, paper and wires and fucking _records, what the fuck, how do they even still exist_ \- littered over the floor. There’s a pretty blonde woman with blood on her face and wild, sweat matted hair struggling through the junk to get to the other end of the inside, where a dark skinned guy in a bandana and a leather jacket is slumped in a wheelchair with his eyes shut. He has a nasty looking burn along his right arm where the material is rolled up, and there’s an alarming amount of blood soaking through his chest. 

Jet Star stands frozen for a second, taking in the scene, and the man groans - he has a deep, baritone voice that reverberates around the metal walls, and it’s a voice that Jet instantly recognises. 

He’s got his gun pointed at motherfucking Dr Death Defying and his crew. 

The guy is the biggest rebel in the zones, and he’s like a damn fairy godmother - keeps music pounding through the sands and updates the zones on the movements of Dracs, Crows with WKIL, his radio station. He even sets up emergency supply meets and arranges help for Zone Rats that are struggling, but the guy looks like he’s in a bad way right now. 

Jet fumbles over putting his gun back in its holster and opens his mouth to say something to the blonde lady, who he now realises is DJ Hot Chimp - she’s a disc jockey too, filling in for Dr D when he isn’t around. 

Before he manages to get any words out though, Jet feels the point of a ray gun sticking right between his shoulders blades, and draws in a quick involuntary breath through his teeth. His mind goes straight to the pigs in the BLI car - he should have fucking checked, why the hell did he just assume they were dusted? Rookie fucking mistake, and now he’s gonna pay for it with his damn life, and so will Dr D and Hot Chimp. 

Maybe when he dies, he’ll get to see Wicked Trick again. 

Before that thought can develop any further though, a voice drawls from behind him, which means it isn’t the pigs - Dracs and Crows don’t talk, and he seriously doubts even he’d be unlucky enough to run into an exterminator by sheer coincidence. 

The voice says, “Well well, who do we have here? Hands on your head, sunshine. Nice and slow now.”

Its clearly a guy, and Jet thinks that he could be forgiven for mistaking the tone as friendly, but there’s a definite threat underneath the cheerful first impressions. He does as he’s told, trying to work out just how deep in the shit he is - on the one hand this is a crew that spends their lives fighting BLI and helping out the Zone Rats, the people practically rule the desert. On the other, though, they’re not likely to be in a particularly good mood right this second; Dr D looks like he’s struggling to breathe properly, and on hearing her crew mate's voice DJ Hot Chimp has whirled around and is now pointing her neon pink gun right at his heart, an unsettling, wild look in her eyes. 

He looks right at her since he can’t see whoever it is at his back, and tries to convey that he’s a friend with his face, since his voice doesn’t seem to want to work. Her eyes flicker up and down his body and then over his shoulder; he watches her nod once, before settling them back on his face. He feels a hand at his side, pulling his blue gun from its holster before he can even protest. 

Not even a second later the pressure on his back disappears and he’s pushed forwards, stumbling a little - he sees Hot Chimp jump out of the van and flt round to his back to join her crew mate. Something in his mind screeches and howls at the indignity of being stripped of his weapon and treated like some kind of traitor, especially when these punks have just totalled his car right after he saved their lives, but the adrenaline is still pumping too strongly for him to feel anything but a thrill of fear as he turns around to face the crew. 

That fear quickly dissipates, though, when he sees the guy stood next to DJ Hot Chimp, and he tries to contain a quick snort of laughter. 

Based on the descriptions he’s heard before of this crew, the man can only be Show Pony - he’d been told that the guy was a little eccentric in his fashion choices, but this really is taking it to the next level. He’s wearing a grubby white helmet with a red visor, and a crop top with the word ‘NOISE’ plastered across the chest which shows off his (pretty banging) hips. (Jet’s never considered himself gay, but wow). But even better, or arguably worse, is the white and blue polka-dot tights he has on, with some kind of black thong over the top of them, and _rollerskates._ In the _desert._

This guy is wearing _rollerskates in the desert._

Clearly Jet doesn’t hide his amusement well enough though (and it’s not that he has any problem with the clothes - it’s just a bit of a shock to the system is all), because Show Pony flips up his visor to reveal narrowed eyes and a pretty fierce scowl. 

Jet quickly sobers up and takes a small step back. 

DJ Hot Chimp is the next to speak, and she sounds a little gentler than Pony, but her face is clearly panicked and her eyes keep flicking back to Dr D in the van every few seconds. Still, she puts a hand on Show Pony’s arm, holstering her gun, and gives him a meaningful look until he lowers his. 

“Listen man, I’m real sorry about your car,” at this the two of them glance slightly guiltily at Jet’s poor destroyed baby. “And we appreciate what you did for us back there, we were nearly out of ammo and that was pretty shiny of you dude. But we got a man down in here and we need to get him to a Bones like, yesterday, so if you’ll excuse us.” 

She moves to get back in the van, her attention already diverted, and Pony gives Jet a final sneer before turning, presumably to get back into the driver’s seat. 

Jet’s brain seems to be working against him today though, because without consciously making a decision he calls out to the two of them - “I can take a look at him if you want. I was always the medic in my crew.” 

Hiis voice sounds weird and scratchy, and it’s not just at the mention of his dead crew - he doesn’t speak so much anymore, not since that day a year ago. He talks only to ask after information or when it’s absolutely necessary in a trade and sees no one for any other reason than business and his voice is just a little out of practice. He just hasn’t felt the desire to fill the silence recently, and it isn’t as if he has anyone to talk to anyway. 

Still, he manages a load enough croak that the two of them freeze, and turn back to him. Hot Chimp has a suddenly hopeful look lifting the worried creases in her forehead, but Show Pony looks like he’d cheerfully ghost Jet himself rather than let him inside the van. Jet keeps his eyes on Hot Chimp though, and he catches the steely flash in her eyes when she looks at Pony. 

“Really?” she says the word as a question, but there only seems to be one answer, so Jet just nods mutely; he kind of doesn’t want to speak again, and he’s not used to being around people all that much anymore.   
She grabs his arm and starts to drag him inside by the arm, but the contact makes Jet jump and reach for his gun, before he realises that Show Pony is still holding it, and grinning smugly at him. If he’s out of practice with speaking then touching - no one has touched him since Wicked Trick hugged him the morning that they all died. 

Hot Chimp feels him jerk away and surrenders his arm, putting her hands up and smiles a little sheepishly. 

“Sorry man, it’s all shiny - just trying to move things along, you know? Our friend here had a little bit of a clap with a Scarecrow and he’s not looking too milkshakes,” she smiles at him apologetically, but retains the determined gleam in her eyes that tells him to hurry it up, or get lost. As if to back her up Dr Death groans from the gloomy insides of the van, and her face tightens again.

A small part of his brain screams that it’s a real stupid idea to get into that van unarmed, and in truth Jet is really uncomfortable without his blue and white gun - it’s like losing a limb or something, and he doesn’t like it one bit. But the larger part of him trusts these people; it feels like he knows them after so many years of listening to them on the waves, and besides, he really is worried about Dr D. 

Jet doesn’t want to let anyone else die out here on his watch, and he really could help - it’s been a while since he did anything like with medicine so he might be a little rusty, but it’s in his blood. It doesn’t look like Dr D is in any position to complain anyway - he glances inside and sees that the blood from his chest has soaked through his jacket and is now dripping onto the floor in little pools.

Jet Star nods tightly once, and steps out of the burning sunlight into the van.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A teeny tiny little update. Things are going to start getting interesting for Jet Star from here on out!

Dr Death Defying is lying on a makeshift table in the back of his crew’s van that Hot Chimp had cleared of radio stuff, unconscious but groaning - his face is alarmingly white, and his dark eyebrows are drawn together in obvious pain. Pony had produced a basic medical kit from somewhere and Jet is now standing over him armed with some antiseptic wipes and a towel, while the other two hover nervously behind him somewhere. 

Jet tries to ignore them, tying his hair up out of his face and concentrates on the man in front of him; he’d taken the leather jacket off earlier and had to cut away his filthy, bloody shirt in order to get at the wound which he can now see is high on his stomach. 

It’s a nasty one, but he’s actually a little relieved - despite all the blood Jet has definitely seen worse, and he’s relatively confident that with some stitches and rest it’ll clear up fine. Dr D will have a wicked scar to show for it too, which only shows that you’re not to be messed with in the dunes. 

He uses the towel to gently dab away all the excess blood, and the wipes to clear a good area around the long cut, which stretches from under his ribs in a diagonal line, deepening in the middle before shallowing and trailing off again right above his right hip. While he’s at it he cleans the burn on his right shoulder too, and decides, after some deliberation, to leave it out to air before bandaging it up. Hot Chimp had flicked on some bright lights while Jet and Pony were lifting Dr D up onto the table, and it’s much easier to see properly now. 

Once he’s satisfied that the wound is clean and the blood has slowed from a strong flow to a steady trickle, he gets the single needle and some rough, thick thread from the kit, ignoring the concerned noise that he hears from Pony behind him. The thread will hurt and it’s not ideal, but it’s pretty hard to come across in the desert and Jet is actually just thanking the sun that they even have any - it would be very difficult to let the wound close without any. 

He quickly cleans the needle with another wipe before threading it, just to make sure, and blows some stray hairs back out of his eyes as he bends over, squinting his eyes in concentration, before making the first stitch. He tunes out everything around him and slips into a calm frame of mind, seeing only the steady movements of the needle and the neat stitches forming - Jet loves the methodical element of medicine, and he’d always been good at it is for as long as he can remember. Stitching someone up or setting a bone or cleaning a wound, it’s just like a puzzle piece being put together, and if he does it right the prize at the end is giving someone their life back, and taking it away from BLI. 

He stitches as fast as he can without losing the efficiency of the movements, aware that Dr D hasn’t had any painkillers - unconscious as he is, his fingers twitch and the muscles in his face tighten every time the needle pierces the skin. It isn’t long before he finishes though, and ties the thread off. He has to lean down almost to face level with the man’s chest in order to bite off the end of the thread, and the smell of sweat and rust rising from his damp skin hits him, dragging him out of his little bubble. 

Aware of his surroundings now, Jet realises that D’s eyes are flickering, and he makes a more coherent groan that almost sounds like a word. At this both Pony and Hot Chimp scramble to his side, and both flutter their hands over his injury with worried faces before each settling a palm on his arm. Jet draws back to give them the privacy of the moment, restraining himself from pushing them away from his patient until he’s bandaged up the wound. 

Their expressions tell him that that wouldn’t go down well at all - and besides, Pony still has his gun tucked into waistband of his underwear. Which is not cool at all, but he’s prepared to let it go for now; questionable judgement as that may be, the chances of getting jumped this far from the beaten track is pretty low.

So he leans against the side wall of the van with his arms crossed, and watches as Dr D’s eyes crack open, his face twisting in pain. He locks onto Hot Chimp’s face, opening and shutting his mouth in what looks like a torturous attempt at speech, and grips at Pony’s hand. 

Jet steps forward to draw them away and get D settled before he tears his stitches trying to move, but when he looks up at Chimp the tears that are pouring down her face shock him into freezing. That crash queen has a reputation for being wicked in a firefight with a gun or without, and Rats from Zone Six to Zone One and even in Battery City itself know not to cross her - himself included - and seeing tears is not something he expected at all. 

Obviously seeing a member of your crew get nasty with the pigs isn’t pretty, but it’s not exactly uncommon out here; it’s rare to reach your fifteenth birthday without some pretty neat scars. Most zonerunners don’t even bat an eye at burns or cuts, and even if this is a pretty bad case Jet would bet his jacket on Dr D having had worse in the past. Hell, the guy is in a wheelchair, and he’s pretty sure that he wasn’t before the Helium Wars. 

But the tears are cutting rivers through the grime and blood on her face, and Show Pony sniffs too, swiping at his eyes, pain evident on his face now stripped of all the cocky bravado. 

He looks very young. 

Dr Death Defying coughs a little but looks determined - after a few false starts he manages to get out a single word. 

“Firefly?” 

His eyes flick between the faces of his other two crew members a little wildly, desperate - Pony shakes his head miserably with tears dripping from the tip of his nose, and Hot Chimp lets out a strangled sob, head falling helplessly onto the shoulder not covered in charred skin and blisters. 

It hits Jet Star like a ton of bricks - Dr D’s crew is famous in the dunes, and they’ve all been on the waves at some point. Firefly’s always been the clown, with a reputation for having a big heart; Jet’s head that the guy has been known to give the clothes off his back to motorbabies that are alone in the sands. 

He hadn’t even thought about the fact that Firefly was missing what with all the blood and the guns being pointed at him and almost being wrecked along with his car - but Firefly isn’t here. It’s sickeningly clear what’s happened as he takes in the broken scene in front of him, Pony and Chimp clasping hands over D’s stomach and linking the three of them together as they allow the tears to run for their dead friends. 

Jet swallows the lump in his throat that rises and thinks of his own crew, before slipping outside to allow the three legends of the desert time to mourn. 

~*~*~

Jet Star loses track of how long he spends sat in the shade of his wrecked car, staring out into the desert. It’s long enough that he’s sweating bullets by the time Hot Chimp quietly steps out of the van and settles herself next to him. The heat doesn’t bother him too much though - the silence in his head concerns him more. When he thinks of his crew now, a year later, the searing pain that had taken up inside his chest the day they were dusted is like the ghost of a bruise - always there and always hurting, but removed, in a way. When he thinks of them now it’s like he’s looking through a fog at someone else’s suffering, someone else’s grief, detached and distant.

Jet thinks that he’d gladly take back the immediacy of the pain if only he could stop the memories of Wicked Trick’s bright grin and Mechanic’s stupid jokes from fading away. 

He and Chimp sit together in silence for a few minutes longer, staring into the distance before she speaks. 

“He didn’t deserve to die like that.” 

Her voice is quiet, unassuming against the vast expanse of desert before them, but the weight of the words seem just as infinite. Jet meets her eyes and lets them linger there, not exactly letting his emotions show but not hiding them either, and she looks right on back, exhausted and old beyond her years. Here is someone who feels the pain that he has felt, and is feeling, and will always feel - it isn’t often that a crew is as emotionally close as the Rodneys were, but is was one of them. 

“I know. My crew were ghosted here too. A year ago today.” 

The words seem to leave Jet’s mouth of their own accord, and he’s mildly shocked - he hasn’t spoken about the others out loud since that day, and he definitely doesn’t remember making the conscious decision to tell Hot Chimp about them, no matter how understanding she may be. 

Immediately he looks over to gauge her reaction, ready to get up and just walk to Route Guano if he sees any hint of pity; pity is the last thing Jet wants. He’s seen it over and again when familiar faces at markets and bars have asked where the others are, and he’s sick to his back teeth of it - he’d actually started a fight with the last guy who had told him he was sorry, and he isn’t proud of it. 

But what he sees on Chimp’s face is far from pity - there is an ancient sadness etched into the lines on her forehead that he doubts will ever go away, but her eyes are blazing with anger and determination. They are the colour of the desert sky on a hot cloudless day, but somehow inside them he can see blue fire raging, and in the dark mirrors of her pupils Jet Star can see himself - looking broken and tired, blood smeared over his face. 

“Let’s make sure they weren’t ghosted for nothing, okay? Firefly and your crew. They deserve fucking better than this, and we’re going to fight to take down motherfuking _Better Living Industries for them_ ,” she snarls the name, lip curled. 

“It’s about time that the Zones fight back, properly I mean; not these stupid little claps that get Rats killed,” at this she pauses and swallows tightly. “I swear, I am going to make them regret they ever messed with us.” 

Objectively speaking Jet Star knows that Hot Chimp is just grieving and angry, mouthing of, and that there’s no way that one crash queen can take down the power that is BLI no matter how badass. But she speaks with such conviction and passion that he forgets that for a few minutes - and when she fixes her fiery gaze on him and asks, 

“Are you with me?” 

It’s all he can do to nod.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Apologies for another filler chapter, but here it is. Things are starting to come together! (A tiny bit) ((Not a whole lot)) (((It's a start okay this thing is so much longer than I thought it would be)))
> 
> I hope you enjoy it, and let me know what you think down in the comments :)

By the time Jet gets back to the musty, dirty old diner that he’s been sleeping in out in Zone Six, the sun has gone down and the air is pleasantly cool. It’s a couple of hours drive out from the spot that he now thinks of as the graveyard - he’d gone out of his way to get there this morning, but without a car Hot Chimp had jumped at the opportunity to drive him back, looking sheepish. 

After giving the others a little longer to grieve in peace together, Jet had gone back to Dr D to finish fixing him up. He’d seriously depleted the medical supplies, but Chimp assures him that they can get more - god knows from where, but she had looked pretty confident so he just shrugged it off. It’s not his problem anyway. 

Pony had warmed up to him after seeing how much better Dr D looked covered with fresh white bandages instead of blood and dirt, and apologised profusely when he gave him back his gun. 

“And your car dude, I’m sorry,” he’d flashed Jet an embarrassed smile. “I guess I wasn’t looking where I was going, didn’t expect there to be anyone out here - but look, we’ll get you another one somehow.” 

Yeah, sure. There aren’t all that many working cars around that don’t belong to the pigs these days, and those there are are heavily protected by their crews. He’s highly sceptical of getting another, and besides - he’d loved that car. It was one of his only remaining links to his crew, and it’d served him well for years. He’d have to figure out some other way of getting around, but in the meantime he’s vaguely worried about how he’s going to get around - his diner is pretty out of the way, and while he’s no stranger to hiking around and camping overnight he’d rather not if he can avoid it. 

They’d done a quick scout of the one that had been chasing the van in the first place, but quickly determined that it was worthless - half buried in the sand with a couple of Dracs and a Scarecrow still inside, it wasn’t even worth scavenging for parts, Hot Chimp had declared - and Jet didn’t have it in him to argue, exhausted from the day. 

Even D had spoken to him a little, in between falling in and out of a fitful sleep; he’d professed his thanks and debt to him for saving the lives of his crew where he himself failed, and Jet had thought that he picked up a little fear in the deep voice. The poor man needed some painkillers, but they’re so rare out in the sands that even the most notorious crew out there couldn’t get their hands on any.

After staying put for a few hours to let D rest and the drive back to Jet’s place, the day was all but gone and Chimp and Pony seemed to be his number one fans, chattering away at him for hours even when he didn’t reply with tight smiles on their faces. He suspects that they may have been talking more for themselves than for him though, in an attempt to distract themselves from the horror of the day. 

By the time they got back Jet was exhausted from all the social contact - talking to people is something that he’s fallen out of habit with in the last year, but he’s more comfortable now with the three than he has been with anyone in a while. 

He decides to ignore the fact that that’s pretty much just because of the hours of forced contact - he’s counting it as a success, especially when Pony and Chimp hugged him goodbye, promising to come back soon. At that he’d almost regretted allowing them to drop him back in sight of his diner, because they might actually do that - proud as he is of himself for dealing with other people for so long without getting drunk or hitting something, he feels a little sick at the thought of them dropping in whenever they feel like it. 

Still, even if he’s a little doubtful over whether or not Pony can magically produce him a new car it’d be pretty useful if he does - he isn’t thrilled about them trashing his bay, but he supposes it can’t hurt to be in contact with the biggest names in the desert. So when Hot Chimp hangs out of the window as Pony pulls away (wearing his roller skates even when he’s driving - the man is an enigma) and promises that they’ll be in touch, Jet forces a smile and doesn’t protest. There are worse people to know - and with all their contacts, they might even be able to get him some information on Korse. 

~*~*~

Over the next few days Jet Star does a whole lot of nothing - without his car the closest marketplace is a couple of days walk, and he isn’t particularly eager to head out. Being a bit of a compulsive hoarder, though, he has enough long-life food to last him for at least a month, and a well at the back of the building means he’s fine for water as long as he needs. 

He does make an effort to fix the place up a little though, which he had been meaning to do since he found the diner a couple of months ago. It’s a bit of a state, sand in big piles in the corners and a few holes in the roof where the acid rain has worn away at the structure - he hasn’t ever gotten around to it before, only coming back to the diner to sleep when he wasn’t out searching for Korse or gathering supplies. 

So far he’s just piled everything he owns in the corner of the main room and slept on his sleeping bag in one of the booths - either too tired or not caring enough to properly check out the rest of the place. 

Over the course of three days he rips out two of the corner dining booths from the main room to patch up the roof, succeeding in blocking the sand and rain from getting inside. He’d taken a proper look around the other rooms in the place where before he’d pretty much confined himself to the front of the store and the kitchen, only having had a cursory glance around the others when he’d decided to stay. 

The place is bigger than it first looks, and the owners clearly lived here before the Helium Wars because there are a few mattresses in a couple of the rooms, half buried in a sea of junk - Jet kicks himself mentally for not checking the diner out properly before. He’s been sleeping on his sleeping bag with a load of blankets collected over the years, but it’s not exactly ideal, and he has a near constant backache that almost fades into the background it’s been around so long. A mattress is an incomprehensible luxury.

As he clears out the second biggest room, the one with the softest looking mattress and the least stains, he puzzles over the last time he’d slept on one - he’s pretty sure that it was the one and only time he’d been into the city, years ago. It was a long time even before they found Wicked Trick, just himself, Mechanic and Kiss, around fifteen he’d guess. It hadn’t been all that long after the takeover when all supply routes from the city were cut off, and they were still a fairly new crew, finding their feet in the Zones with their unstable nature and even more unstable inhabitants. 

It was early enough, anyway, that BLI had only coerced about seventy percent of the population of Battery City into taking the pills, already having written off the comparably small number of people in the desert, assuming they’d all soon die off without a proper social system. Anyway, it meant that getting in and out wasn’t as dangerous as it is today, though it still had its risks. He and his crew had slipped in through a small hole in the perimeter of the wall that allowed their skinny, teenage bodies to squeeze inside in search of food and supplies. 

He spends the day sorting all the stuff in the room into piles of useful and trash, head flooded with memories from that day. 

Once the three had gotten into the city they’d lain low and snuck through the backstreets and dingy alleys in what was clearly a rough part of town, earning stares from the miserable looking city rats clearly living in the streets for their bright desert clothes, standing out amongst all the greys and whites. 

In the end they’d gotten chased by a bunch of BLI pigs (not Dracs, just regular zombies - Jet assumes they hadn’t quite yet perfected whatever it is they do to make people into those monsters) and fled into the tunnels and gotten all turned around for hours, wandering until even Mechanic had stopped cracking jokes and they were all convinced they’d die down there. 

Just as they’d given up hope though, a gangly little teenager with a toothy grin who introduced himself as Benzedrine had come barrelling round the corner and enveloped them up, into a hug of all things, then proceeded to drag them bodily through the tunnels to a big steel door with a long tunnel and a big room at the end of it. There had been a few people milling around, clearly living there, and they’d all welcomed Jet and his crew like old friends, feeding them and laughing until everyone’s stomach hurt. 

The kid was clearly even younger than they were but he had been building an inner city resistance right under its nose, and Jet remembers being very impressed as he fell asleep on a soft mattress with a full stomach and his crew around him. In another life he would have joined the gang like a shot when Benzedrine asked them right before they left, but his heart is in the desert - dangerous and unpredictable as it might be, the searing heat and shifting sands are home. 

All three of them had found even walking in the city difficult - from what he remembers the concrete was far too solid underfoot and they’d kept falling over when they tried to compensate for shifts that didn’t happen. 

Jet gets so lost in memories of the past that before he knows it the room is clear and he’s got a pile of tradeables as well as a lot of trash to burn. It’s actually a pretty nice room; lots of space and it’s right next to the door that leads out to the overhang where the Car ill be parked (if he ever gets one again that is) so he can get to it lickety split if the pigs come searching. 

He gets to moving the few important things that he has to inside the room so he can keep an eye on them - car keys, spare clothes, sleeping bag and tools for the car. The things that he kept of his crew’s - Trick’s ratty old baseball cap, Kiss’s gold locket and Mechanic’s yoyo that he never let out of his sight - stay right next to his head, wrapped carefully in some old magazine pages so they don’t get damaged. 

When he’s done Jet casts a critical eye over the room, and deems it acceptable for now; though he’d quite like to get his hands on some paint from somewhere and brighten up the dingy walls, but that can wait. 

He wanders back out towards the main area with the vague plan to move all his cans of food to the kitchen, when he hears something clatter from near the door. 

He freezes, hand going to his gun without even thinking about, head cocked to listen for anything else. He’s about to rule if off as something falling down - maybe he didn’t do such a good job with the roof as he thought - but then there’s a rustling and a weird squeaking sound. 

Jet draws his raygun and keeps it in a combat position in front of his body, which is tensed for action as he takes carefully measured silent steps down the hall to the back of the counter. Crouching low, he passes the entryway and stops right behind the counter, ducking to make sure it hides his head as he listens hard. 

There’s more rustling, and the sound of someone humming to themselves - he works out from the direction of the noise that whoever it is is to his left, most likely in one of the booths against the wall furthest away from the door. 

The humming sets his mind at ease just a little, because it can’t be anything from BLI if they’re making music; it would be a real downer if the pigs discovered his hideout just as he’s decided to stay in it, and where one arrives, more are sure to follow. It doesn’t mean that they’re not dangerous though - there are a few crews that Jet is still friendly with from before that awful day, and they at least tolerate him out of respect for the others even if he is a little difficult to deal with now - but there are plenty enough out there who have a nasty streak, or are desperate enough to kill another zonerunner just for his boots. 

Listening hard for another couple of seconds he decides that there’s only one of them, which is comforting; he can take one, especially with surprise on his side.

He allows the calm to wash over him, feeling the air whoosh almost silently in and out of his lungs and settling into his fighting persona, before jumping up and aiming his gun in half a second, finding the target exactly where he’d thought. 

Show Pony lets out a yell and throws the can of beans he’d been eating at Jet, where they land in his hair. 

Jet feels himself blink in shock at the cold tomato-y sauce running down his face, and stares wordlessly at the stupid grin that is slowly spreading across Pony’s face. The two of them lock eyes for a full minute, neither of them saying a word, Jet still aiming his gun at Pony and Pony brandishing a dirty spoon, before the idiot breaks into maniacal laughter. 

“Oh my -”, Pony laughs so hard that he doubles over, clutching at the side of the table in an effort not to fall to the floor. 

“Jet, you - your face man”, he howls with tears pouring down his cheeks, unable to even form words. 

Jet just stays where he is, trying to work out what’s happening - why the fuck is Show Pony in his diner, eating his beans? And why are those beans in his hair? 

It takes him a minute before his brain catches up and realises there’s no threat, and allows his locked arms to lower the gun. He’s not entirely sure what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this.

He opens his mouth to ask Pony what he’s doing here - or to tell him to shut the fuck up, he hasn’t quite decided yet - when the door opens and DJ Hot Chimp walks in with an arched eyebrow, which redoubles Pony’s cackling until he’s wheezing and banging the table with his fist, pointing helplessly at Jet stood behind the counter. 

When she sees him stood behind the counter covered in bean juice, she slaps a hand over her mouth and giggles too; that snaps him out of his shock and he stalks back out to the hallway muttering under his breath and seriously considering shooting the bastards anyway.

It’s a few minutes later that Hot Chimp finds him in the small washroom, splashing his face with a bucket of water and picking beans out of his messy hair. She leans in the doorway and watches for a while with a stupid smile on her face, so he tries to pretend she isn’t there and sniffs at his hair in search of any bean juice that he missed. 

“So, Jet Star”, he glances up at her when she speaks in spite of himself.

“How have you… bean?” 

Chimp cracks up and slaps her thigh as she laughs, echoed by Show Pony still out in the diner. Jet stares at her in disbelief until the expressions her face is twisting into and the vaguely seal like noises coming out of her mouth get to him, and he feels laughter bubbling up in his own chest. 

When she sees him battling a grin Chimp grabs his arm and drags him back down the hall to the main room, both of them tripping over their own feet on the way. They drop into the booth where Pony is still sitting, giggling with Dr D who’s appeared next to him. His deep, booming laugh is oddly comforting, and it relaxed Jet just enough for him to burst out into laughter too. 

The four of them laugh together for a few minutes, clutching at each other’s shirts and letting the tears flow. For those few minutes Jet forgets that his crew was ghosted, that he’s alone, and that there’s still some crusty bean juice in his hair. For those few minutes, he’s happy.

~*~*~

“So what do you say motorbaby?” 

Dr D’s voice is level and calm, as if he didn’t just ask the craziest question Jet’s ever heard; Show Pony and Hot Chimp are both watching him curiously, all three of them waiting for an answer. 

When D had first asked him to be a tumbleweed, travelling between the desert and Battery City on supply and information runs, he’d genuinely thought he was joking. Except for that one time years ago, when security was next to nonexistent, he’s never even seen the inside of the City - how in hell is he supposed to get in and out without getting caught? 

Besides, everyone has heard the stories of what it’s like in there. How there’s no colours, how the only sound is the humming of machinery even in the middle of the day, how the citizens are like zombies with dead eyes; how would he go unnoticed with his bright desert gear? He’s too obviously _alive,_ though admittedly his eyes are probably similar to the citizens’. He’d get picked up like shot and tortured or zombiefied or something equally horrific - even Dracs aren’t that stupid. 

Dr D clears his throat, and Jet realises the three of them are waiting on answer. He looks down at his hands, clasped on the dusty table, then at the three of them, opening his mouth to say no. Evidently though, Chimp double guesses him and doesn’t like the answer, because when his gaze lands on her she holds it. 

“We’re doing this for Firefly, Jet Star. We won’t let him have died for nothing, and your crew didn’t either - we’re going to take them down Jet, I promise you. But we need your help.”

On the other side of D Show Pony nods. “We do, really. One of us would do it but the pigs know our faces; you they don’t know, you can get in and out. If you can get info on them we have a real chance of bringing them down, you know?” 

He looks so earnest when he speaks that Jet can’t help but feel unsure. Maybe it isn’t such a bad idea? It isn’t as if he’s doing anything worthwhile with his life already, and besides - it sounds like an excellent chance to get some dirt on Korse. This could be his ticket to the man, if he just plays the long game. 

Dr D smiles in triumph when he looks at him, looking pleased already as if the man can read minds - although honestly it wouldn’t surprise him if he could. 

Jet nods once. “Alright. I’m in.” 

“Yes!” 

Pony yells in victory and launches himself across the table to hug him, looking way more excited than the situation calls for. Jet pulls back, uncomfortable with another person being pressed so close to him, but the back of the booth and Hot Chimp blocking the way out he can’t get very far, so resigns himself to being hugged. He even finds himself enjoying it a little, and grudgingly thinks that maybe being around these three will be good for him. He has been spending a lot time alone after all. 

After a few seconds Show Pony allows him to move, and he knocks fists with Hot Chimp and then Dr D in turn, both of them looking pleased. 

“You won’t regret this son. They’ll be proud,” D speaks with a twinkle in his eye, and his deep voice resonates in Jet’s chest. Yeah, he’ll make his crew proud - he can’t help but chuckle when he imagines the reaction Wicked Trick would have if he knew about this. 

“Now get out of my sight, all of you - you’re zapping my juices and I know I gotta get a break sometime. Jet Star, I’m thinking that Pony here has something to show you - so get your asses gone and I’ll give you the 4/11 when you get back.” 

At this Pony seems to remember whatever it is he wants to show Jet and clambers out of the booth, skinny limbs flailing everywhere before skating quickly out of the diner, gesturing at him to follow. Hot Chimp rolls her eyes and goes with him with a clap on Jet’s shoulder, but when he moves to stand up Dr D places a hand on his arm, stopping him.  
“We’re gonna be a part of something big, you know - it’s down to us to keep the sands safe now. On behalf of the desert, Jet Star, from the bottom of my heart I thank you.” 

He speaks solemnly and then lets go of his arm, gesturing for him to join the others outside and reaching across the table for a can of mushrooms that Pony hadn’t gotten around to opening earlier. 

Jet watches him for a second, the man who holds the desert together who now is asking for his help, before turning to step out of the diner into the burning sun.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Check it out - a chapter where stuff actually happens?! what?? this chapter made me super happy to write, so I hope you guys enjoy reading it!
> 
> (Side note - sixth form is beyond stressful right now and I have a coursework deadline coming up so the next chapter may be a little while. Buuuut, I promise I'm working on it and will get it posted asap. Thankyou for being so patient with me and my awful update schedule!)

“Well, what do you think?” 

Pony has a distinctly nervous expression on his face, looking eagerly to Jet and gesturing towards the shiny new motorbike parked outside his diner. 

It’s white and pristine, with a smooth body and a big, powerful engine - it’s beautiful. He can feel his hands itching to get at it and take it out, to feel that engine purr beneath him and shoot out through the sands faster than any car can manage over the rough ground. 

He picks up his jaw from the floor and pulls himself together for long enough to answer, doing his best to ignore the smirk on Hot Chimp’s face. 

“Guys.. where did you even get this from? It’s amazing”

He goes over to where the bike is propped up on its kickstand and runs a hand reverently over the strong body, warm from the sun, before resting it on the leather seat - it really is a work of art, a bike this good in such great condition is hard to come by nowadays, and they’re in high demand from the bigger crews in the desert who can afford such luxuries. 

Pony’s nervous face has turned back to its usual smug smirk. 

“Well hey kid, that would be telling. Can’t reveal our sources now, can we?” 

He lounges against the back of it and winks at Chimp, who grins and taps the side of her nose. 

“Damn right Jet Star, you’re great and all but we ain’t gonna let you right in on our trade secrets. Just take the bike, hey?” 

Jet grins and nods at the two of them in thanks. When Hot Chimp sees the expression on his face she laughs and shakes her head very slightly, before pushing off from where she’s leaning on their van and making a beckoning motion at Pony to come with. 

“Come on punk, let’s give this rubberburner a little alone time with his newest toy. I think D wants the records rearranged”, she lunges and grabs his hand when a look of horror comes over his face and he moves to skate away, yanking when he yelps and struggles. 

“Nooooo, Chimp pleaseee! I organised them by colour yesterday, and name the day before, and year the day before that!” he throws a desperate look at Jet, still struggling against Chimp’s seemingly iron grip. 

Jet just laughs and puts his hands up in a surrender position, taking a step back. 

“None of my business Pony. Maybe it’s a good idea that you get in there and sort some stuff out. Keeps you out of the way, not pointing guns at any innocent bystanders, you know”. 

He laughs outright at Pony’s shocked gasp and the way he sticks his nose in the air, taking on an offended air. It gets him to go at least, and Hot Chimp winks at Jet before following him when he stalks away towards the building (or as close to stalking as a guy wearing rollerskates can get).

When the two disappear inside the building with Pony proclaiming that Dr D is a slave driver, Jet takes another moment just to admire the bike before he swings a leg over and settles himself on the seat. It seems to mold to his shape perfectly, and when he leans forward to take hold of the grips, the angle is just right for his height. 

He still has the grey helmet that Show Pony had thrust on him upon revealing the bike and he pulls it over his head, grimacing at the thought of the case of helmet hair he’s going to have to deal with later. It feels perfect though, and when he turns the key and feels the engine roar to life Jet’s stomach does a funny little backflip. 

It only gets stronger when he twists the accelerator and the engine growls beneath him. 

With a sense of growing excitement he flips down the visor on his helmet, kicks out the stand that's propping him up, and - 

Just like that, Jet Star is flying across the sand faster than the wind itself. Before he even has a chance to take it in the diner is just a hazy figure far behind him - fast isn’t even the word to describe it. 

It’s a gorgeous machine, and he is only more impressed as he gets the feel of it, turning and ducking this way and that to get himself accustomed to all its little tricks - he’s a strong believer that every vehicle has its own personality, and that good driving is just a matter of getting to know them. It can be the difference between life and death, in a pinch, 

This though, this bike is like caramel, gliding across the surface of the desert as if it were a straight, flat road with barely a whisper. If it weren’t for the wind whipping the exposed skin in the space between his gloves and his leather sleeves Jet wouldn’t even be convinced that he   
was moving at all.   
Despite himself, he feels a big smile creep across his face as he revs the engine and flies even faster, free as a bird in the big blue sky. 

~*~*~

By the time Jet has worn himself out on the bike and made his way back to the diner (not that he strayed very far - as great as D’s crew have been so far, he isn’t completely easy with leaving them in his diner without being there to supervise). 

He parks the bike under the overhang that's right next to his room, and goes inside through the door that's set into the wall there, bringing him right out into the hallway. From there he ducks into his room quickly to put his new helmet away(and cast a quick eye over all his stuff - Pony is great and all, but he isn’t going to trust him with everything quite yet). 

When he’s satisfied that everything is where it should be Jet takes off his heavy leather jacket and leaves that on the bed too, before following the sound of voices back out to the diner, where Dr Death Defying seems to have set up shop in the same corner that he left him in earlier this afternoon. He softly greets him and is rewarded with a nod of acknowledgement before he goes over to check it out.

He’s got a whole mess of wires and cables around him with a sound board set up on the table, and a few microphones scattered here and there. On a couples of table surrounding the one he’s sat at are several boxes of pristine records, each wrapped in cellophane to keep the sand out. They’re all arranged meticulously by what looks like artist when he looks through them, and by the looks of Pony, who is curled up on a booth and snuffling heavily while he sleeps, have been organised today. 

Hot Chimp is nowhere to be seen, but when Jet pokes his head into the kitchen with a vague idea of finding something to eat, she’s in there humming to herself and dancing around wearing an apron that has ‘kiss the cook’ emblazoned across the front in sparkly pink letters. 

God knows where she got that from. 

She also seems to have magicked up a portable stove from somewhere, and has used the pots and pans left in the cupboards by the previous residents to put a tin of spaghetti on to warm, while she slices up what looks like spam and is setting it out on actual plates - it seems an alien concept, but it’s quite one. 

When she notices Jet at the doorway she smiles and shoos him out, not even breaking her humming, but gives him a friendly shove. 

It makes him laugh as he stumbles back through to the diner and settles himself in the booth across from D to watch him work. It looks like he’s set up his radio comms, which is actually pretty awesome - Jet’s place being used as essentially the base of the desert ops, and the centre of the desert revolution. 

Dr D has a look of concentration on his face and he doesn’t like to disturb him, so he just sits back to watch and learn as the man methodically sets everything up with quick, precise movements, making it clear that this is something he’s done a thousand times before. 

There’s a very domestic atmosphere in the place with the faint sounds of Chimp humming and clattering in the kitchen and D fiddling with his wires - as he listens to the quiet sound of Pony’s snuffly breaths as he sleeps Jet feels a wave of calm come over him that he hasn’t felt in a long time - over a year. 

He realises, as the quiet sounds of life in the twilight lull him almost to sleep, that he’s comfortable with this crew, despite them being practical strangers - more comfortable than with possibly anyone else in the desert, and it’s a nice feeling; one he’s missed. 

They remain like this for a little while, everyone quietly keeping to themselves with Jet trying not to fall asleep until Chimp comes through from the kitchen, balancing four plates on her arms. 

“Come on boys, it’s dinner time,” she jerks her head at the three of them to come over as she sets the plates down on one of the clear tables in the middle of the room, before realising that Pony is asleep and getting a wicked glint in her eye. 

Dr D and Jet share a conspiratorial grin when they see her creeping quietly towards Pony, light footsteps not making a sound, and make their way to the food table to watch the show. 

She reaches Show Pony and stands for a minute, head cocked as she considers what to do, before stealing around to his head and crouching right behind the booth, hidden from her victim but fully visible to Jet and D, who are now sat side by side watching the events unfold. 

She meets their eyes for a second and gives them an evil grin, lifting one finger to her lips in the universal sign for ‘keep quiet’. 

Dr D mimes zipping his lips, and Jet has to slap a hand over his mouth to cover the sound when it makes him snigger. 

As he watches, Pony reaches a hand over the top of the booth and lightly, ever so lightly, brushes her fingertips over the skin on his neck. 

In his sleep he grunts and brushes at his neck, shifting in his sleep - Jet has to stuff his fist in his mouth to keep from laughing. 

Chimp waits a second for him to settle down into sleep again before brushing her fingers over the exposed skin again, a little harder this time. Without warning, D booms across the room from next to him; 

“SCORPION!” 

In an instant Show Pony’s eyes snap open with a look of pure and total panic, and he flails his arms around, slapping hard enough at his neck to immediately leave a bright red mark in the shape of his hand, which makes him yelp. 

He jumps up and does a very strange wiggle thing with his body - which apparently he thinks will help him get rid of a scorpion - but he’s still wearing his skates and they trip him up. His arms and legs shoot out in different directions as he falls to the floor with an oof, a comically shocked look on his face. 

By this point Jet is creased up with laughter, his breath coming in great gasps as he struggles to get enough oxygen into his lungs to sustain the laughter. Chimp is rolling on the floor and D is clutching at his stomach next to him, all three of them practically howling. 

It only makes him laugh harder when Pony suddenly scowls, the exact moment that he realises what’s going on clear on his face, and clambers to his feet using the booth he just fell from to drag himself up, clearly trying to maintain any scrap of dignity he still has. 

He flips the bird at Chimp, who is still on the ground, before stalking over to where Jet and D are sat, looking determined. With a pointed look at each of them he picks up Jets plate before he can recover enough from laughing to stop him, and licks right down the middle of his spam, making sure to gross up the whole thing, before setting it back down and picking up Hot Chimp’s plate to do the same thing, smiling with grim satisfaction at the indignant cry she lets out as she scrambles to her feet and lunges across the room, too late. 

When he reaches for D’s plate however, a strong hand shoots out and grabs his delicate wrist. D gives him a challenging look before slowly placing his hand back down at his side. 

“Just try it, punk. I ain’t afraid to ghost you”. 

They all know in theory that he’s joking, but flash of nervousness flickers across Pony’s face before he laughs it off, sitting down in front of his own place next to Chimp and grinning at them. 

“Fuck you guys, I need my beauty sleep!” 

Chimp snickers. “You’re not wrong there”, and dodges the hand that flies out towards her face. 

“Whatever loser. Enjoy your saliva spam - just don’t think too hard about where my mouth has been and you’ll be fine”, he says, wiggling his eyebrows and making gross movements with his tongue. 

Chimp looks vaguely queasy and pushes her plate away while Pony tucks in happily, and Jet follows suit - wherever Pony’s mouth has been, he’s sure it won’t kill him. And the food is just too good to pass up. 

Before long they’re all eating though, Chimp and Pony bickering and pinching each other the table like motorbabies while Jet watches with D in amusement. 

By the time they’ve all finished and Pony has gotten in a final kick, D clears his throat and the relaxed, jokey atmosphere melts away almost instantly. It’s actually awe-inspiring how much respect the good doctor commands; even with such a simple gesture he has the undivided attention of the room, and even Jet finds himself sitting up straighter in response. 

“So, let’s get down to the nuts and bolts shall we motorbabies?” He speaks with a business-like tone and the attention of all three shifts subtly towards Jet - which he doesn’t like one bit. Not one little bit. 

His back is instantly up, suspicious of what’s coming next. This crew didn’t get where they are today only by being friendly, and he’s well aware that when Dr D wants something, he gets it. What Jet has to offer him he doesn’t know, but he isn’t sure he wants to find out. 

“DJ Hot Chimp here told me that you were down to make some bacon outta those piggys. That right Jet Star?” he levels his intense gaze right at him, eyes boring into his skull, and Jet feels for a moment like the man can see right into his head and read his thoughts. 

He does remember saying something resembling that, on the day they all met - but he really didn’t think much at all would come of it, and it was something more like being steamrollered into agreeing than actually articulating a response. Still though, never let it be said that Jet Star goes back on his word - he nods in agreement, keeping his head high. 

Dr D leans back in his chair and settles his hands on his stomach with an approving look. 

“That’s what I like to hear. Now, how do you feel about going into the city?” 

~*~*~

This is a stupid idea. 

This is a really, really stupid idea. 

It’s the middle of the night and Jet Star is rummaging through the bins behind a big medical centre on the outskirts of Battery City, and he’s definitely covered in something disgusting that he doesn’t even want to think about. He’s in a small square of space with the big (white) containers, and what looks like a (white) fire escape set into the main (white) building of the facility with a weird spiral staircase - which is white. 

He kinda misses the bright colours of the desert. 

He’s on a collection mission with Chimp standing guard around the corner, with strict instructions to find anything at all that’s salvageable. The plan is to set up an emergency medical centre in Zone 3 specialising in treating Zonerats who have been in firefights with Dracs or Crows in an attempt to encourage a resistance group. 

In theory the place will act as a base too - the idea being that people showing up for treatment will be the ones interested in fighting, and a more organised rebellion can grow with the desert rebels communicating and standing as a united front. 

Right now though, the reality of it is digging through the trash, and it’s pretty gross. On the bright side, the zombies that work in there must be drugged up to their eyeballs because they throw away a whole load of decent stuff. Actually, if he’d have known about the amount of stuff to be found here Jet probably would have ventured into the city earlier - if they weren’t using for the clinic this stuff would be a goldmine out in the sands, where finding medical supplies is like looking for a needle in a haystack. 

He’s quickly and quietly filling two ratty old backpacks with bandages, needles and a few unopened rolls of thread, and even some proper surgical equipments; scalpels, scissors and a special kind of medical glue that seems to be for holding together broken bones. 

He’s almost filled up both the backpacks when he hits a real treasure - inside a bin bag there are seven bottles of painkillers, and three of strong sleeping pills. Painkillers are beyond a luxury, and Jet’s known people to die from the shock of the pain while receiving treatment before now just because they didn’t have any painkillers. 

He stuffs them quickly inside, and they fill the remaining space enough that he struggles for a second over the zipper. He gets it done and slings one of the bags over his shoulder, holding the second to his chest before making a move towards the alley where he knows Chimp is waiting. 

The sound of a door swinging quietly shut stops him in his tracks.

Jet freezes with his back to the fire escape, tensed for the pain of a shot to the back of his head. 

When that shot never comes, he turns around very slowly, backpack laden hands above his head, to face whatever zombie or pig is there. 

As the dark building comes back into view, a bright light make him blink at the door, where a single figure is silhouetted against what looks like a white hallway. As his eyes adjust to the glare, Jet can make out dark eyes and black hair cut close to the head of a short man in the regulation Better Living Industries cut, and a slender body clad in white uniform.

The man is staring right at him with a blank kind of look, but isn’t brandishing a gun as he expected - he’s just stood there, staring down at Jet like he’s nothing of particular consequence. 

Jet isn’t quite sure what to do in this situation. He’d been prepared in case of being discovered, and his gun is already cocked in its holster, ready to go - but his muscles are tensed for a fight, ready to defend himself, and he’s not quite sure if that’s what will help him here. 

Whoever the zombie is he isn’t trying to stop him, or raising the alarm. He’s just watching Jet like he’s a particularly interesting bug. He’s got his bike helmet on so he knows the guy can see little more of his face than his eyes, but that doesn’t stop the panic of being watched by the enemy; at any second he could ring some hidden alarm or shout, and the game would be up.

They both watch each for at least a minute, Jet deliberating what he should do. The man doesn’t make a move at all, and he can’t help but wonder if the guy is even fully conscious - Pony had warned him to scram if he came across any zombies, because they’re programmed to raise all hell if they see anything out of the ordinary and that they’ll bring the vamps down on him faster than he can blink. 

This guy though is still doing nothing at all, even when faced with a colourful stranger rummaging through the bins with a gun strapped to his hip. 

Heart racing, Jet makes eye contact with the man for a split second, looks back at the alley, and runs.

With the air whistling past his ears he doesn’t hear if the zombie is finally giving chase and he isn’t stupid enough to turn around and check, but it doesn’t sound like any shots are fired in his direction - or if there are, the guy isn’t a very good shot. 

Jet Star very decidedly does not think about the tiny, barely visible nod that he’s 99% sure he didn’t imagine.

The muscles in his legs burn as he runs at full speed, skidding around a corner to see Chimp with her gun drawn in the shadows, watching the street. At the sound of him emerging from the alley she turns, and her eyes widen behind her open visor at the sight of him running. Without a word she sprints to the manhole cover they came into the city through, pulling it off with swift, controlled movements just in time for Jet to skid towards it and throw the backpacks through, swinging his legs down after them and jumping inside, foregoing the rusty old ladder set into the wall of the tunnel below. 

His feet hit the floor with a jolt that sends a sharp pain shooting through his leg, but he shakes it out and turns back to the cover a little ways above his head, whisper-shouting to Chimp. 

“Get down here Chimp, I got you!” 

She’s on it, already clinging gracefully to the top of the ladder and dragging the heavy cover back over the entrance to hide any evidence of them being there, while Jet pulls the torch from his jacket to illuminate the damp underbelly of Battery City. 

After hearing the dull clank of the manhole cover falling back into place, Chimp drops down next to him with barely a sound, and together they run to the end of the dark tunnel they’re in until they reach a fork in the path. They take the left side, dodging a small family of rats, and then make a sharp right which takes them right into a kind of circular cavern in the middle of the tunnels with seven or eight alleys leading away in all different directions, and a beautiful white motorbike sat right in the middle. 

Without breaking stride Jet shoves one of the precious backpacks into Chimp’s arms and loops his arms through the remaining one so that it sits on his stomach, then pulls out the string around his neck to get at the keys he keeps on it. 

He swings a leg over the bike almost at the same time as slotting the key into the ignition and firing the engine. He feels Hot Chimp slide onto the seat behind him and slip her arms around his waist simultaneously, feels a squeeze around his middle by way of an assent, and pulls away seconds after reaching the cavern.

They race through the twists and turns of the tunnels that they’d memorised last night, pouring over the maps that Dr D had produced like magic from somewhere in the van - Jet feels like he knows them better than the lines of his own hands, and he navigates through them easy as breathing, keeping the speed right between the line of too fast and fast enough. 

Chimp is a reassuring weight at his back, and in just a few minutes he feels the change of air that signals their crossing between the boundary between city and desert. As soon as he feels that his muscles let go of the tension he hadn’t even been aware of holding and he lets that big grin spread across his face, breathing in the clean, cool air of the desert that permeates even down into the tunnels. 

The freshness of the air increases second by second until - 

The bike explodes out of the dark tunnels into the clean night air of the desert to the sound of two inconsequential little Zonerats whooping and yelling until their lungs burn like the sun that rises in the morning, shouting their victory to the infinite grains of sand below them and the infinite stars above. 

Home fucking free.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am awful and horrible for not updating my shitty Killjoys fic in so long (not that anyone is too bothered i'm sure) but I got hit with a wave of wanting to create something tonight so I just did a real short chapter before I go to sleep. I hope to keep this better updated from now on :)

Long, hot days drag into weeks and into months, until Jet Star opens his eyes one morning and suddenly it’s been two years since that day Dr Death Defying and his crew wrecked his car, and somehow he’s become one of them. 

He rolls over in bed to stare at the ceiling and count the cracks, mind on other things as he runs over in his head what his jobs for the day are. He and Pony did a supply run last night along with Josh and Tyler, so a lot of today should be devoted to sorting all that out into some kind of order in the storerooms else D will string him up by the balls. 

He smiles at the thought of the two gangly fresh faced kids barely older than motorbabies who’d rolled up sometime last summer with torn, bloody clothes and clinging to one another’s hands. They’d never explained what happened to them, but they’d insisted that they were staying to help at the centre with such ferocity in their voices that even D hadn’t quite wanted to say no to, and since then they’d just become part of the furniture. Fast little fuckers too, they’re fantastic with the rebels and light on their feet on runs to the city. 

Jet sits up and huffs when he swings his legs over the bed and his bare feet hit the cold tiles on the floor, hastily stuffing them into the boots he keeps right there in case he has to get up quickly - no time to be searching for them if the pigs happen to drop in for a late night call. 

When he’s done waking up he wanders out into the hall with the vague idea of searching for some breakfast, passing Show Pony with one arm above his head, stretching and yawning with bleary eyes. Most of the time they all crash over at the centre now, but it’s pretty standard not to go straight back there with hot goods in case the piggies get on their tail. Hot Chimp splits her time pretty equally between the centre and fuck knows where, disappearing for a few days at a time now and again - Jet’s pretty sure that no one except Dr D knows where she’s going, but whatever it is he gets the feeling it’s important. 

"Yo Pony, you ready to jet?" he jabs a finger into skinny ribs where the idiot is leaning on the counter with his face on a fist, eyes already shut again. 

"Dude!" Pony yelps and twists around to send him a vicious glare. "I was just waiting for you man, don’t be assaulting me with those bony ass fingers of yours.” 

Jet just can’t help himself but smirk and waggle his eyebrows, and snorts pretty hard when Pony slaps his arm and glides out of the main doors, muttering something about being the only grown up left in the god forsaken desert. 

~*~*~

 

Jet double checks the back of Pony’s new (ish) car to make sure all the medical shit is still there before hopping in and starting the drive to Zone 3 - his bike is still there, since he couldn’t get all the stuff from last night onto it, and he’s anxious to get back on it. Show Pony’s ride is pretty sweet, but it just isn’t the same connection as he has with his bike. 

The guy himself just curls up in shotgun and goes right back to sleep, the lazy punk, so Jet switches into autopilot for the drive, losing himself in the music on the radio interspersed with Dr D’s familiar voice updating the desert rats on the weather and such. When his muscles start to cramp up and he pulls over to take a piss into the sand and stretch his legs, Pony just grunts and turns over in his sleep, so he pokes at him until he wakes up. 

The dude just flips him the bird and goes back to sleep, so Jet gets back in the car and starts driving again. 

He has nothing more on his mind than faint calculations running over how much stuff they picked up last night, when they’ll need to go get more, and where from - there had been a nasty incident a few weeks back with Chimp that nearly resulted in her being dragged off by a dirty fucking vamp, and since then it’s seemed that the pigs are on higher alert, so they’re going to have to be careful until it all blows over. 

He’s still musing over all this when he pulls up to the old warehouse that is now home to Zone 3’s very own patchwork emergency room, and spies an unfamiliar car outside it. Most smaller crews travel on bikes or just by foot, and Jet had thought that by now he knew most if not all of the big crews willing to show their faces at a rebel site, but this one is definitely new. 

He shakes Pony awake and snickers when he grumbles and squints with bleary eyes before pulling his sunglasses down from the top of his head and hops out of the car to pop the boot. 

While he’s hauling the bags out and handing them off to Pony, he can’t help but glance at the car again. It’s a faded canary yellow, pretty banged up but looking decent enough - he squints, and it almost looks like there are drawings scrawled along the doors, low down. 

"Who do you think came with the wheels?" The words seem to come out of his mouth before his brain even decides it. Fucking motormouth, he thinks with a scowl. Gotta get that shit under control. 

Show Pony balances a bag on his hip and lifts his sunglasses a little to squint at the car. 

Jet doesn’t miss the shock flit through his eyes before he schools his face into a relaxed expression and shrugs, and nor does he miss the tiny crease between his eyebrows. 

"Dunno man," Pony’s shoulders are just a tiny bit too rigid as he grabs his bags and turns for the door to the clinic. "Probably just some zone runners looking for hot nurses or some shit. That’ll go Costa Rica when they meet Chimp". He grins at Jet, and drops his gaze just a bit too quickly. 

Show Pony is fucking lying to him. What the fuck? 

Pony and D and Chimp, they’re his crew now, and crews don’t fucking lie to each other, ever. Fastest way to get yourself ghosted and everybody knows it. 

So maybe he isn’t their crew. Maybe he’s nothing. 

The ghost of a familiar pain takes a grip of his stomach, squeezing just enough to remind Jet that it’s there, whispering in his ear. 

_You are alone. You have no crew - they left you. You have nobody. ___

__The voice echoing in Jet Star’s head sounds painfully like Wicked Trick._ _

__He shakes his head to dislodge the crap running round his brain and concentrates. Following Pony through the familiar dark hallways criss cross through the old building he feels a little calmer - they built this together, him and the others, and that has to mean something._ _

__The last couple of years have been bright, shiny as a fucking star - the pain in his stomach throbs every now and then to remind him not to forget, but the pain of those first twelve cycles is a thing of the past. It’s been good, or as good as life gets anymore out in the sands, and he refuses to listen to any creeping voice that whispers that that’s going to be taken away. Whether that’s a good idea or not is something that he tries not to dwell on._ _

__When they reach the main stockroom Jet and Pony work together in silence, moving quickly efficiently to get the new stuff put away, and the familiarity of the job soothes him even further. Casting a critical eye, he’s pleasantly surprised to see that the supplies are in pretty good shape - enough basics to last at least a week, and even a couple of treasures that they’ve accumulated like the box of packaged, sterilised syringes that are nestled between a tray of slightly battered operating tools and a tray of bandages._ _

__It isn’t until Pony shoots him a somewhat guilty look and says ‘I’m just going to go and, uh.. check out on the wards. See if they need anything right away’, before skating away in the opposite fucking direction to the network of patient’s rooms they’ve dubbed the wards, that Jet remembers the grip on his stomach, and it squeezes until he struggles to drag the humid desert air into his lungs._ _


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check it out, another chapter without months in between! I'm gonna go ahead and admit that I realised while writing this one that I definitely did not plan out this AU well enough because some of my timings aren't matching up - I'm on it, and will be going back through Frank's story to fix any discrepancies. I'm really sorry, I know how annoying inconsistency can be! 
> 
> On that note, I was wondering if there's any chance any of you lovely people would like to be my beta for this fic, in the hopes I won't make any more dumb mistakes? If anyone is interested that would be awesome and I would be forever grateful, just shoot me a message anytime! 
> 
> Thankyou for reading, and please go ahead and leave comments whether you liked it or have any criticisms - I hope you enjoy!

Jet’s never liked the word skulking. 

It just sounds sneaky, the way it feels on your tongue - _skulking. _Sounds like it should apply to some slimy douche trying to worm his way into a pretty girl’s panties.__

__He isn’t like that, so Jet ponders it for a minute while he tries to remain unseen in the hallway outside Dr D’s makeshift office before deciding that he’s ‘hovering’._ _

__He’d thought about leaving it alone, when Pony had split faster than a desert dog, but the sick feeling in his stomach hadn’t allowed for that. After a couple of minutes and a winding route through the maze they call a med centre he’d wound up here, hovering, and straining to hear the voices behind the door._ _

__He can make out the deep rumbling of D’s voice but the pitch is too low to make out any words - he carefully steps lightly closer, listening hard, until he can hear someone pacing inside and a muttering that sounds like Show Pony. He listens so closely, in fact, that he jumps a foot in the fucking air and makes a sound he’s none too proud of when someone clears their throat behind him._ _

__He spins round to see Hot Chimp’s grin lighting up the dingy hallway from where she’s leaning against the wall, and tries his best to force his face into a non sheepish expression._ _

__He gives it up when she cocks an amused eyebrow and says nothing, offering a weak grin instead and shuffling away from the door._ _

__“What are you doing skulking around out here?” she pushes off from the wall and crosses her arms at him, looking far too pleased to have caught him doing something he shouldn’t._ _

__Jet mutters “I wasn’t skulking”, all too aware that he sounds a little like a whiny motorbaby, and scowls when she snorts at him._ _

__“Seriously, what’s going on?” Chimp peers around him at the closed door. “Because we just got a couple of punks with some pretty nasty burns in, and if you’re not busy…” she flashes a grin at him with sharp little teeth and pokes at his ribs, when a raised voice sounds from inside the door at Jet’s back and their heads whip round as one._ _

__“Just what do you mean, you can’t find my grandsons?” the feminine voice is brimming with cold, carefully controlled fury, and sends an involuntary shiver down Jet Star’s spine._ _

__It isn’t a voice he recognises - but there’s a quality to it, behind the strength, that inexplicably makes him think of warm cookies served by his grandma bustling around her yard when he was a kid, before the city was sealed off and the dracs came round and destroyed what few houses they could find out here._ _

__Jet turns to Hot Chimp to ask whether she knows what that meant, and why this woman’s grandsons are anything to do with them, just in time to dive out of the way before she storms through the door with narrowed eyes. He grabs the door frame to right himself and swings himself into the office to see a tiny, elderly lady in a hot pink leather jacket towering over D’s chair with a face that could kill a Drac._ _

__Jet Star feels a twist of amusement amongst the boiling sea of anxiety in his chest at the distinctly nervous look on Dr D’s face as he looks up at the stranger._ _

__Show Pony is over at the big, dark wooden chest that they found when they took over the building, leaning against it with his chin up and his arms crossed while Chimp has frozen just inside the door, her eyes locked onto the fierce looking old lady._ _

__“Elena?”_ _

__The woman, Elena, looks up with an icy fury on her face that melts into a warmth and affection that rival the sun when she sees Hot Chimp._ _

__“Well now, my little monkey, haven’t you grown big!” all the threat drains from her posture as Elena swoops down on the younger woman and folds her into a hug, comfortingly muttering what sounds like Italian under her breath as she holds her._ _

__What the fuck?_ _

__Chimp, as a rule, is not an overly affectionate person, but she seems to melt into the embrace easy as breathing - it’s just odd, as far as Jet is concerned, and there’s definitely something going on here._ _

__He steps a little further inside the room, keeping his distance from the elderly woman because frankly, he’s a little frightened of her. He manages to tear his eyes away from the spectacle of affection before him to glance at Pony for an explanation and is just met with a long suffering sigh - fuckin’ punk._ _

__“Does someone want to explain what the fuck is going on here?” Jet feels like he might actually explode as a result of the anxious tension running through his body right now, but he still shrinks back against the wall when his swearing garners a stern flash of the eyes from Elena. Clearly something is happening, and the rest of his crew are in on it while he’s out in the fucking dark - it makes him uneasy to think that he isn’t being kept in the loop, because if one secret can be kept from him then how many more are there?_ _

__He briefly wonders if he’ll ever feel totally a part of this crew, but pushes the thought out of his mind for now and instead narrows his eyes at Dr D, who looks levelly back at him in silence for a few long seconds before answering._ _

__“Jet Star, this is Elena. She ran with The Black Parade.”_ _

__At this, Jet feels his face fall in shock. Something in the back of his mind tells him that he looks like an idiot and that he should shut his damn mouth, but he can’t quite seem to connect his brain to his body._ _

__The Black motherfucking Parade. He’d thought they were all ghosts._ _

__Everyone knew of them, the Paraders, the crash queens with attitude that ran the fucking dunes for over a decade before they were all taken out in a firefight back when Jet was with his old crew. Rumour had it they’d gotten themselves a squealer who’d sold them out, and they all went down together in a blaze of glory the day the pigs caught up with them - not that they hadn’t taken down a few themselves. They had a rep for a reason - infamous for their deadly tempers and dark humours, everyone in the sands knew not to mess with The Black Parade._ _

__Suddenly the woman, Elena, was all the more threatening from where she’d straightened up next to Chimp, and was now scowling at Dr D again._ _

__“Boy, don’t you disrespect me. I was the boss - and don’t be running your gums like the Parade is dust. Myself and my grandsons will do just fine thank you, as soon as you tell me where they are.”_ _

__There’s that voice again - the terrifying one that makes Jet feel like a motorbaby again, and he clears his throat to get the lump of nerves away._ _

__Excellent plan that was, because now Elena has turned her beady eyes on him, and is scanning him up and down with a blank expression on her face._ _

__Jet holds his breath for seems like a full minute before she smiles and holds out a hand for him to shake - when he takes a couple of steps further inside the room to take it, she has a strong, warm grip that matches what he’s seen of her personality so far._ _

__“It’s, uh, it’s nice to meet you Ma’am”, Jet stutters and tries to remember the manners his mother had instilled in him back when he was little, offering her a weak smile._ _

__She cracks a grin at him that crinkles the edges of her eyes before throwing her head back and honking out a loud laugh that sounds inexplicably like home and makes Jet feel more relaxed than he has since he saw that damn yellow car outside._ _

__“Oh piccolo, you are a sweet young man. I haven’t been called Ma’am since before the takeover!” Elena drops his hand and pats his chest affectionately, before retreating to hop up onto the desk next to Show Pony. Perching there, she shoots a poisonous look at D when he opens his mouth to talk, and tells Jet,_ _

__“Yes, my crew is The Black Parade. You’ve heard of us, I presume?”_ _

__Jet nods and does his best not to look too starstruck, settling himself to lean against the wall next to Chimp._ _

__“Sure, of course.” he tries to figure how to word this without offending the woman. “But I thought - I mean, I’d heard that… there was a firefight, right?” He winces at the clunky, awkward way the sentence comes out, and feels horror grip him at the expression of grief that flits across Elena’s face before she schools her features back into neutral._ _

__“You heard right. My crew was betrayed, and we paid the price for it.” Jet shoots a look at D, still trying to work out what the fuck is happening here, but his face is impassive - though he seems to have inched his chair a little further away from the desk._ _

__“Most of my family is dead now,” Elena continues, claiming Jet’s attention again. “But they haven’t wiped us out. Let me ask you a question Jet Star - how many motorbabies you seen in the dunes?”_ _

__Scanning his brain, Jet can’t say he’s seen many, apart from Wicked Trick - he’d been an exception. There were a few exceptions here and there of course, but as a general rule the desert is too dangerous a place for a little one, and to spot one was a pretty rare thing. A tragic number of people seem to have been made infertile by the fallout from the bombs, and the ones who aren’t usually pay for passage with a smuggler in the hopes that there’s somewhere, beyond the desert badlands, where they can raise their children in safety._ _

__“I guess not many,” he admits, not sure what relevance this has but sure Elena has a point somewhere in there. “But I wouldn’t want my kid out here either though.” x_ _

__She clicks her fingers and points at him. “Exactly. It’s not a place for motorbabies, out here, you know that! That’s why we put our kids into the capable hands of the good doctor here”, she throws another look at Dr D, and doesn’t try to stop him this time when he opens his mouth._ _

__“Elena here came to me a long time ago, with two little problems she needed help troubleshooting,” D’s familiar, rumbling voice is tinged with something that sounds suspiciously like guilt._ _

__Jet can’t stop his mouth from shooting off again - fuck, he really needs to get that under control - and blurts out “The Black Parade ran with motorbabies?”_ _

__“We tried,” Elena looks like her mind is far away from the warm office, back with her crew. “My daughter, when she got pregnant - we stuck together. We weren’t going to ship her off to some smuggler and hope that she got somewhere safe, so we decided as a crew that she’d stay.”_ _

__She gets up and starts pacing with three sets of eyes tracking her, continuing in a rich voice shot through with memories and riddled with pain._ _

__“She had the baby, and it worked, for a while - we looked after him. He was colour, pure and simple, more alive than anything I’ve ever seen in this godforsaken desert, and he didn’t know anything about no Better Living Industries,” she snarls._ _

__“We were tight, didn’t take any shit, and it worked - my grandson was happy, and he brought joy to everything we ever did. But then my daughter, she got pregnant again. We didn’t even think she could, her first was a difficult birth, but she did.”_ _

__Elena’s exasperatedly fond tone makes Jet smile, and he can picture it in his head - a beautiful, fierce crash queen with Elena’s eyes and a sandy haired motorbaby peeking out from behind her legs, one hand on a swollen tummy and one on the ray gun at her hip._ _

__“She had the baby, and he was beautiful - just like his big brother. He didn’t even cry, just blinked at me and then settled into her arms,” Elena’s voice is thick now, and she’s clearly fighting the urge to cry._ _

__“It was real tough, again, and she didn’t make it. She kissed his forehead, and she looked right up at me, and she told me to keep them safe, her two motorbabies, however I could. She made me promise, and then she just closed her eyes and went right there with her son in her arms.”_ _

__Elena looks up, voice fierce once again, and looks right at Jet._ _

__“It wasn’t safe for them, not out here. Snakes and desert dogs and Dracs everywhere you turn, it wasn’t safe, and it was my job to keep them safe.”_ _

__By now she is pacing the small space like a caged animal, tension clear in the set of her shoulders._ _

__“So she came to me,” D finally moves from his spot in the middle of the room to shut the door, ever on the lookout for sharp ears where they shouldn’t. “Elena, my old friend, you know that I would not hold such a matter with any less importance than my own life. I put them with my best people, in the deepest cover I had - I swear to you, they were in the best possible hands. I did warn you o-”_ _

__“Yes yes, you warned me of the risks. I know.” Elena abruptly stops her pacing to slump against the desk, and strikes Jet as old for the first time in this bizarre encounter; despite her obviously great age, something about the woman is so full of colour and life that it didn’t quite occur to him before._ _

__“I know you would not intentionally risk them, my friend. The fault is mine - I should have come to you earlier,” at this she touches her head and hunches her shoulders. “I am a foolish old woman, and I have allowed too much time to go by.”_ _

__When Elena slumps, Dr D books it over to catch her before she can go down, and supports her against his chair with arms strengthened from years of pushing himself around through the sand._ _

__“Split,” he barks tersely, “aren’t there some tumbleweeds out there that need some pills or some shit?”_ _

__Jet opens his mouth to protest that he wants know what happened to the boys, but Chimp is dragging him away by the arm before he gets the chance._ _

__Besides, he has a nasty idea that he can guess._ _

__~*~*~_ _

__“So she wasn’t there the day the firefight went down?”_ _

__Jet and Pony are doling out painkillers and talking in hushed tones - not that any of the fifteen or so tumbleweeds in the main ward seem to be paying them any attention._ _

__“Nope. Word in the dunes was that she took off in the car to visit a zone rat the day of, and she came back after it was all over.”_ _

__Jet hands a couple of pills to a scrawny looking girl in ripped up pants and a tank top who’d come in a couple of days ago with a head wound, and feels his eyebrows draw together._ _

__“So where were the boys when it happened then? Her grandsons?” Elena had talked like they had disappeared off the face of the earth somewhat recently, but surely - if the whole Parade crew had gone down, surely there’s no way two little motorbabies survived._ _

__“They were out, man,” Pony says, turning to give Jet a look that questioned the existence of his brains under all the hair. “Didn’t you hear D? They’d been in the city for a year, with a couple of insiders that were working deep cover.”_ _

__They finish up with their deliveries and head back through the maze of hallways to put the bottles back in the store room closest to the wards._ _

__So the kids weren’t in the desert when their crew were ghosted - but Elena had mentioned that they were lost, and D had looked distinctly guilty the whole time he’d been in the office._ _

__“Where are they now?”_ _

__Jet stacks the pills back in their place on the shelf next to a tourniquet and a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and turns to where Pony is lurking in the door frame._ _

__“We don’t know. When D heard The Black Parade went down he assumed Elena was with them, and tried to get into contact with his operatives, but they never answered. A couple years went by, and they’d stopped sending annual reports, so he could only assume, you know? They could only have been caught, kids and all.”_ _

__Jet brushed past him and shut the door, before turning right back around to lean his weight against it and slide down to the floor. Pony sighed before slipping down gracefully to join him, rollerskates sticking out like weird hooves or something._ _

__“He didn’t think it mattered so much, because everyone thought there were no survivors that day - desert rats die all the time, and these kids were no different, sad as it may be. People die, that’s how it goes, y’know? Figured it wouldn’t hurt the dead that their kids were gone.”_ _

__The more he finds out, the less this all makes sense in Jet Star’s head. If the kids were already in the city and Elena survived, where the fuck has she been all these years?_ _

__“So where wa-”_ _

__“Where was Elena?” Hot Chimp materialises on Jet’s left side, and slides down to sit with the two of them._ _

__“Punk,” Jet scowls at her. “Stop sneaking up on me.”_ _

__She winks at him and says “Anything for you, sugar,” before the grin drops off her face._ _

__“After she found them, Elena got a little… I mean, something like that is difficult to deal with, right?” Her eyes slide guiltily to Jet’s face, but he just waves her on. He knows more than most just how difficult._ _

__“She lost herself. I don’t think she even remembered who she was before - couldn’t let herself, or it would have broken her, I think.”_ _

__That does sound like feasible explanation. Jet thinks sometimes that he would prefer to forget, and lose the pain along with the memories - but then he thinks of the nights around campfires, the cheerful squabbling, the joy that soared in his chest when the laughter of his crew rang in his ears, and he knows that he will fight to keep his memories with every breath in his body._ _

__The familiarity in Chimp’s voice, coupled with the warm greeting she’d received from Elena, gives her away._ _

__“You knew her?” Jet guesses, and is rewarded with a nod._ _

__“Before I met D, I spent a few years at a bar out in Zone Six. She’d been there a few months I think, and she cooked - god only knows how she did it but the woman did things with power pup that made it taste like heaven on a plate.”_ _

__“Did you know who she was?”_ _

__This time Chimp shakes her head, blond hair flying._ _

__“Not ‘till a few years back. I was telling this punk,” she says, waving an arm lazily at Pony, “about the crazy cook lady who scratched pictures into the bar with rocks, and I guess D recognised her.”_ _

__“We went to find her, but she’d moved on by the time we got there,” Pony chimes in, looking a little defensive. D’s been looking for her since then, but he only just found her a couple days ago.”_ _

__The two old friends had been in the office for over an hour now, but after hearing the story Jet imagines they’ll be locked away a while longer - they clearly have a lot to discuss._ _

__The earlier fear that his crew had been conspiring to kick him out or something equally as awful had dissipated back in the office, but a little twist of hurt remained in Jet’s belly. Sure, he hasn’t been around as long as the others, but surely they should have told him something as big as this?_ _

__He’s been deliberating since D scrambled them earlier whether or not to bring up the fact that they’ve all been lying to him through omission for years, but all at once his mind is made up._ _

__“You could have trusted me you know,” he says quietly, cringing at the hurt he can hear behind his own words. “I wouldn’t have squealed or anything.”_ _

__Chimp and Pony give him matching guilty looks from each side, and Pony cuts his gaze away - but Jet doesn’t miss the way he leans into his side ever so slightly, and the solid warmth against his side reminds him that this is his family now._ _

__“We would have, Jet, honestly,” Chimp says uneasily. “But we only found out about Elena right before you showed up, and we couldn’t just tell you right off the bat, and it’s - well, it’s complicated.”_ _

__Jet snorts at that. “What, more complicated than it already is?”_ _

__“We’ve been looking for the motorbabies.”_ _

__Pony blurts it out like he’s spitting out poison, and takes a big gulping breath of ar right afterward like he’d been holding the words in his lungs for a while._ _

__“Wait, are they still alive?” For some fucking reason Jet feels the hope rise in him that, against all the odds, these little motorbabies - who must have been goddamn tiny when they left the desert - are out there somewhere, waiting to come home. Not like it’s any of his business, but as a rebel in the most active resistance crew in the dunes he guesses its kind of in his nature to root for the underdog._ _

__Chimp grins at him, for real this time, and nods furiously._ _

__“Reckon so. I’ve been looking for them, got the 4/11 from some of our people in the city and tracked ‘em down. Seems like our guys on the inside were caught up in some kind of explosion at a faulty Drac training facility, and the kids were put into the BLI orphanage till they were old enough to go to work in the city. It’s taken fucking years man, and way too many trips to see zonerunners, but we got an address.”_ _

__“You did?” Pony leans around Jet to stare at Chimp full in the face, jaw hanging open at Chimp’s proud affirmation._ _

__“Dude, why didn’t you say something? Elena’s in there thinking they’re dead, idiot, did you not think to mention that you know where they goddamn live?”_ _

__Pony pokes her tongue out at him and jumps lightly to her feet, dragging both Jet Star and Show Pony up with her before hustling them back down the hall towards D’s office._ _

__“I only just got it this morning, shitface. I was going to tell D, but Elena was there and it all just sort of -” she flails her hands in lieu of describing the scene from earlier. “But we’re gonna tell her right the fuck now.”_ _

__She brings the three of them to a stop outside the door to the office and grins, sharp and bright, with a hand poised to push it open._ _

__“I think we’ve got some plans to make, boys. Time to bring some motorbabies home.”_ _


End file.
